Not As I Do
by Aramis IV
Summary: Bruce Wayne is placed in an awkward spot as Diana begins piecing together the true nature of his secrets while trying to save Selina. Poor Dick Grayson finds himself in the middle of his mentor's problems as he deals with his own debacle of a love life. Rated Mature for later chapters.
1. The Bat & The Robin

No specific timeline is intended for use, as of yet. This is my own take on the overall relationship between the Titans and the League, with a little bit of spice added from Young Justice Continuity. None of the relationships I explore haven't already been established, in one form or another by original DC works. At its heart, I intend for this piece to be a BM/WW centered story but I admit to getting distracted with other pairings from time to time.

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Steel blue eyes watched the monitor feed from the training room, intently. He'd been watching Nightwing train for hours, knowing the former sidekick would soon be at his limit. Bruce was growing impatient, but he knew his time was close at hand. He knew getting answers from the former Robin would be impossible unless the youth found himself too exhausted to lie. So he waited. And watched. Wayne had known is protégé too many years to think he could casually ask him anything even remotely this private without running into the lad's stubborn streak. No, instead he'd wait for him to tire himself out, to be too drained to react in any capacity other than directly.

Under more normal circumstances, he could rely on Alfred to worm the problem out the young man. During his years as Robin, Dick had always confided in Alfred the things he felt too intimidated to discuss with Bruce. But this wasn't a normal situation, and Bruce didn't have the time to wait for Alfred to work his magic.

On the screen, an electrified stun stick caught Dick square in the gut after a less than perfect landing from a handspring. A stumble after such a basic gymnastic maneuver was signal enough that Nightwing had reached his limits, but the training dummy's successful attack was the icing on the cake. It had taken almost six hours of constant assaults but Dick Grayson finally hit his limit. That fact wasn't lost on Bruce. Six whole hours, and the kid refused to crack. He calculated his next move carefully. He'd be stressed, he'd be agitated, and he'd be exhausted.

All according to plan.

Bruce pulled the cowl over his face and punched a few keys on the console at his lap. The training room abruptly shut down, the door to the outer hall opened and the smell of sweat and steam began to seep into the cave. Before the door fully opened he was standing before it, filling the frame with his blank scowl and crossed arms.

"So you saw that one, huh?" Nightwing winced, holding his ribs. "If you're mad I overrode the training protocols, you should know Tim was the one who showed me how to do it."

Dick stepped closer to the door but Batman remained planted, effectively blocking his path.

"Something on your mind, Bruce?" Dick asked warily.

Narrowed eyes behind a cowl were the only response.

A solid minute passed in silence as the two eyed each other. Years ago these staring matches could stretch to ungodly lengths, but Dick no longer let Bruce get under his skin like he used to. Coupled with the creeping exhaustion setting into his muscles, he simply didn't have the energy to posture with his mentor. He wasn't sure what he'd done to deserve the full Bat Treatment, as Tim had coined it, but he was too tired to care. If Bruce didn't want to talk out whatever their apparent problem was, Dick was inclined to let him stew about it.

Hoping to resume his way forward, he lowered his head and reached to brush past the brooding Bat. Bruce stopped him before he could take another step. "I want you to let Alfred take a look at those ribs-"

"It's nothing," Dick interrupted. "I got worse when I was wearing your cape that month, remember?"

"-And let him take a blood sample," Batman concluded without pause.

"Blood sample? It was just a stun stick. I'll be fine."

Batman didn't budge and his glower etched itself deeper into his features.

"I hope your face gets stuck like that one day," Nightwing spat. He was returning the stoic gaze with equal ferocity but began rolling up the sleeves of his costume anyway, silently consenting. "I'd like to see you play the fop with your face stuck like a gargoyle's ass."

Turning on his heel Batman stepped crisply back down the hall, and lead Dick to one of the examining tables in the corner of the cave that had been established as the medical bay. Carefully sitting himself on one of the tables, Dick winced as he tried to find a comfortable position that didn't aggravate his injuries. He was bone tired, but he would never allow himself to show Bruce his exhaustion. Better to simply walk it off and save face than admit weakness in front of his scowling mentor.

"Master Dick," Alfred greeted warmly as he descended the stairs, breaking the silence. "I didn't think you would be back home so soon." He paused slightly, casting a meaningful glance at Bruce before returning his attention back to Dick. "I was under the impression your hiatus from the Titans would be spent in Bludhaven?"

In spite of the uneasy undercurrent of the room, Nightwing had to smile. No matter how old he was, or how many years it had been since he actually lived in Gotham, he supposed Alfred would always be making assurances so that Dick knew he could always call the manor home.

"He has a contusion on his ribs, and probably a pulled tendon in his left leg," Batman interrupted coolly.

Alfred set into motion immediately, grabbing supplies from the stainless steel medical cabinets and placing them on a rolling tray. He held an ill-concealed laugh as he busied himself. "Not home a day and already cleaning your scraped knees and elbows again. Even these days… The more things change, the more they stay the same."

Dick couldn't help but chuckle, but winced quickly at the constriction in his lungs. Bruce was right on that front, he definitely had done a number on his ribs. He took a few short breaths to steady himself, but held his smile in place for Alfred's sake, almost as much as Bruce's.

"I'd also like you to draw a vial of his blood for me," Batman cut in again. The Bat was allergic to reminiscing, Dick reminded himself.

"Whatever for?" Alfred asked. "You haven't been chasing that horrid ivy clad woman again have you?"

Nightwing shot Alfred a mischievous grin, but thought better of remarking on Poison Ivy's current method of delivering her toxins these days, if the rumors were to be believed. Instead, he lazily pointed at Batman. "You'd have to ask him. I've been getting the Bat Glare from the start. No 'hello', no 'good to see you', or 'welcome home'. Just 'Give me your blood and shut up'."

Alfred fixed Bruce with a withering stare of his own. Dick smiled triumphantly. Good ole Uncle Al was always on his side when it came to matters of the overbearing Bat. More to the butler's credit, he kept his unhappiness with his employer evident while he administered care to Dick's injuries.

"He's been uniquely exposed to meta... His relationship with the Titans has been redefined. However unlikely it may be, it's possible he has been controlled, or otherwise unnaturally influenced," Batman answered roughly. The edge in his voice was sharp, undercutting his true concerns. He was angry at himself for the misstep and that anger flowed into the conversation, despite his best efforts. Mentally berating himself, he redoubled his focus in order to hold his stoic scowl.  
"Uniquely exposed? Unnaturally—What?!" Dick leaped from the table and squared off against Bruce. "Cut the shit, Bruce. You're talking about Kori aren't you?" 

Bruce remained impassive with the exception of a momentary flash behind his eyes. Had Dick been anyone else, he'd have missed it but his years working as Robin meant he could read that dour, stoic façade like a road map. That was the issue at hand here. Bruce still didn't see him as his own man. He wasn't watching Nightwing's back as he developed a new team, in his mind he was keeping an eye on Robin while he played hero with his friends. It made Dick sick.

The matter became distasteful on another level altogether, as he digested the idea of Bruce Wayne having an opinion about his relationship with Kori. How Bruce had managed to catch wind of the rumors surrounding Nightwing and Koriand'r, better known as Starfire, Dick could only imagine. Hell, he didn't even know where they stood as a couple but in the end, he felt he did the right thing. She was why he took the break from the team. He couldn't objectively and competently perform his duties leading the Titans if he held special feelings for one of his teammates. That type of affection could cloud his judgement, make him a liability. When he came to that realization he hated Bruce for instilling that type of training in him, even though he knew it was the right thing to do.

That realization had stung worse than the heartache. Dick Grayson had come to that understanding on his own. He didn't need Bruce to point it out. He'd come to the same conclusion Bruce would have, and even took the same action he knew Bruce would. All without his interference. It was proof he had more Bat in him than he'd care to admit. But all of it meant nothing if Bruce didn't trust him enough on his own. That was the simple truth. Bruce didn't trust him enough, so he spied on him. Dick kicked himself mentally. Of course he'd have the Titan's tower bugged. How could he have overlooked that?

"You bugged me… Bugged us? You spied on the team you agreed to build? What the hell Bruce! Why?!" He was seething.

"Consider who your teammates are. It was in everybody's best interest," Bruce condescended. He wasn't defending his position, he was chiding Nightwing for not realizing the obvious.

Behind Nightwing Alfred's head slumped in dismay at Bruce's lack of tact, and the tempest that would be inherent in Dick's reaction.

"You're a real son of a bitch, you know that?" Dick pulled his sleeves back down. Anger dulled the pain in his ribs as he moved. He took a deep breath, knowing he'd be quite sore later for his abrupt actions, but it couldn't be helped at this point. Ignoring Bruce entirely, he stomped away before remembering Alfred's presence. "Nice seeing you Al," he said warmly. "I'll see myself out, thanks."

In an instant he was on his motorcycle, the engine revving loudly. "Oh, and she's an alien. Not a meta, asshole."

Squealing tires and acrid smoke from burnt rubber marked the exit from the echoing cave. The slowly fading reverberations bounced around the cave until finally, mercifully, leaving the two remaining occupants in a depressed silence.

"That… Could have gone better, I suppose?" Alfred offered quietly. "Must you be so rash with the boy, Master Bruce?"

A slight slump to his caped shoulders was the only response.

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The stories I post to this site are a dalliance from my day job(s) and are a way for me to break through writer's block on other projects. Reviews are always welcome, positive or otherwise. If anything, it'll probably give me further motivation to post more chapters sooner rather than later. I reserve the right to edit any and all chapters as I strike lines I don't like, or choose to reword specific ideas.


	2. The Brooding Bat

No specific timeline is intended for use, as of yet. This is my own take on the overall relationship between the Titans and the League, with a little bit of spice added from Young Justice Continuity. None of the relationships I explore haven't already been established, in one form or another, by original DC works. At its heart, I intend for this piece to be a BM/WW centered story but NW/SF has just too much to explore to be ignored.

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The kid was still too headstrong, there was no other way of looking at it. He didn't stop to consider any additional angles once he came to a conclusion _he_ deemed right. Even if more obvious answers were staring him in the face. If he only stopped to think it all out... If he only had all the facts, he wouldn't be so angry. Instead, in classic form, he came to his own conclusions and then threw a fit like a brooding, petulant child.

 _Wonder where he got that trait from._

Batman paced along the row of screens in the Justice League's command room, The Womb. Monitor duty irked him even during normal circumstances but fulfilling his obligations while still trying to get a handle on his run in with Dick made him detest the predicament even more. He was itching for a way to channel his frustration, but he forced himself to hold firm to his calm outward appearance.

Whenever he worked with the League, or found himself alongside meta superheroes in general, he had to be more Bat than man. Their discomfort around him was the only weapon he naturally possessed, and he exploited that fact to great effect. That wasn't to say he didn't possess individual contingency plans to incapacitate each and every member of the Justice League, should that terrible need arise. No, he simply needed a way to throw his weight around without physically going toe to toe with people who could destroy entire cities with an errant sneeze. Indulging in the role gave him that edge.

Even at the best of times, Batman's opinion of the seemingly all powerful meta humans was less than favorable with few exclusions. Clark could be handled easily enough, Boy Scout that he was, but that didn't mean he wasn't inherently dangerous. Diana, however, was three times the threat Superman was. Wonder Woman held the entire overpowered package of super abilities Clark did, but in her they were backed by her royal sense of duty as a princess and an Amazon warrior's lust for combat. A combination Bruce found himself at constant odds with.

 _Diana..._

Pausing his pacing around the facility, he reached for a panel on the wall and dimmed the lights. It was a nuance he'd allowed himself to continue when working outside the cave, but it served an added bonus of adding to his mysterious reputation within the League. Since the bright LED lights were damn near blinding in the entrance areas near the teleporters and main hallway it always took the less nocturnal heroes longer to adjust to the difference between rooms. This often afforded him the opportunity materialize behind any visitors before their pupils had acclimated. A trick that seemed to work on almost every member except for Martian Manhunter with his telepathic abilities, and Oliver Queen who had taken to believing Batman was always, constantly, right behind him.

Leaving the wall panel, his frustration redoubled. The darkened room hummed warmly with the buzz of electronics, and the multiple displays cast shadows at odd angles around the room. Making the environment more like the cave he was so accustomed to, only reminded him of the last fight he had within it. He worked his fists angrily, popping knuckles muffled beneath the cover of his gloves. He was losing his cool, in more ways than one. The fight with Dick was stressful enough, but the ripples of that altercation would reach the League members soon. Now there was something he would hate almost more than Monitor duty. With an agitated sigh, he slumped into a chair and began scrolling through security feeds. He aimlessly opened a few, drawing short when he reached a feed from the training room with Wonder Woman's name on it.

The ultimate truth of the matter, was that it was her fault to begin with. Diana had practically begged, at least as far as her noble heritage would allow, Batman to help her keep an eye on her younger charge. She was Wonder Girl's loudest supporter when it came time to assemble the Titans, and led the initiative to get Cassie included on the team personally. The result was satisfying enough to all parties, at first. Cassie Sandsmark got the spot on the team she so desperately wanted, and Wonder Woman had an outlet for her sidekick to establish a semblance of a normal life that Diana was denied. In hindsight, the plan had worked almost too well.

Batman began the playback on the security feed and studied Wonder Woman's training routine. He watched in much the same rehearsed manner that Diana employed going through her usual routine. Years ago, Bruce had taken to watching the training feeds of all of his teammates in order to better fight alongside them, or against them, should the need arise. Diana's movements had become predictable to him in no time. She was almost as strong as she was proud, and in her confidence she telegraphed her punches almost as badly as Clark did. Not a bad tactic considering there were few on the planet who could block such blows without suffering extreme injuries, but it was still a shortcoming nonetheless. The training session was short and Bruce's mind began to wander as he watched Diana flow through her cool down stretches which would, invariably, lead to meditation. A practice that was her signature sign off after training.

For a brief moment, he wondered if she bothered to try to teach the same practice to Wonder Girl. Between the two of them, that girl needed it more than Diana did, certainly.

It wasn't a secret, Cassie had fallen hopelessly for Conner. Almost immediately Con-El, the biological grab bag of Lex Luthor and Clark Kent, had endeared himself to the young woman in ways that no other person could hope to match. It made sense after all. Even on the Titans team, they were in a class unto themselves. It was only natural, given that half the world thought Wonder Woman and Superman were an item, for their younger counterparts Wonder Girl and Superboy to be romantically involved. Unfortunately within that budding, awkward relationship blossomed Diana's problems.

Diana made her initial request under the guise of being responsible for the Titans as a whole. After all, it was her directive in the first place and as such she was in charge of handling communication between the team of youngsters and the Justice League. That fact aside, Bruce didn't buy it. Sure, he understood Diana probably had an overinflated sense of responsibility for the kids but they weren't teens anymore. As hard as it was for even him to admit, the "kids" didn't need a chaperon anymore, but Diana was insistent.

While Diana trusted Cassie to keep her informed of the day to day facets of her life, she didn't want Cassie to feel like she couldn't come to her for anything. So like all well-meaning, albeit overbearing, caretakers she devised a way to eavesdrop. The only problem was Diana was awful at espionage and even worse with electronics. Her methods always favored a direct approach, not subterfuge. Any attempt at infiltration she made on her own, Diana knew, would be discovered immediately and her predicament would be exposed. The Titan's trust in their benefactor would be shattered, and she'd lose the team entirely.

Batman adjusted his cape idly before leaving his seat. He completed another uneventful patrol of the Watchtower before perching himself at the console once more. Batman now stared idly at an unchanging screen of messages. Each previously handled, yet unfiled. A lingering reminder of Booster Gold's shift before Bruce's. Each request for assistance had been handled accordingly, but the message traffic had become a substantial backlog. Slowly, he filed each message away under the folders bearing the names of each corresponding hero responsible for aid. He found a small pleasure in the deep recesses of his mind at the repetitive task. It was a welcome break from his nagging thoughts.

The fight with Dick bothered him, sure, but not as much as his interaction with Diana. Robin, no, Nightwing, he corrected himself, would come around. The two had clashed over far more sensitive subjects and still managed to patch things up just fine. It was only a matter of time before cooler heads prevailed and they talked things out. No, the underlying issue at hand was Diana and the aftermath of their poorly executed scheme.

For the life of him, he couldn't understand why he agreed so readily. He saw right through her half-baked excuse to bug the Titans' tower, but he acquiesced all the same. He even found himself fortifying her weak position with excuses of his own. Ultimately, Conner Kent was just as large a potential threat as Superman, it only made sense to keep tabs on him. And he was still a clone of Luthor, let's not forget. Bruce hadn't necessarily been intending to spy on Nightwing and Starfire directly, but Batman was never one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

That bombshell had been troublesome for him to cope with. Without question, he found Dick's involvement with the alien to be a bad idea. Not only were they teammates, an objection he raised when Dick had first become involved with Barbara as well, but her alien abilities put her in the same class as some of the most powerful heroes in the Justice League. It made her just as dangerous. A position he found himself struggling to stick to while acknowledging he wasn't entirely unbiased. While he still hadn't deigned to reveal his identity as Bruce Wayne, it was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore he had lost control over the distance he normally kept between himself and the other members of the Justice League. The mounting evidence, he was resigned to admit, pointed to his long denied soft spot for anything involving Diana. It made him feel like a hypocrite.

His filing efforts finished, he pushed himself away from the console and resumed his pacing. He was about to start yet another mental tirade against his apparent hypocrisy when an idea struck him. Batman was having a hard time maintaining his impartial nature whenever Diana was involved, he admitted freely.

He was simply allowing himself to get distracted by her presence.

He smiled to himself as a wave of understanding rolled forward from the back of his mind. The grin was wholly uncharacteristic underneath the cowl.

The only way to fight a distraction of this level, was with another distraction entirely. A distraction that if Batman couldn't find, then Bruce Wayne certainly could.

Glad his momentary lapse in façade had gone unwitnessed in the empty room, he slapped his stereotypical scowl back into place immediately. Though no one was present to see his lapse, the security cameras of the room certainly would have caught it. He thought briefly of erasing the last few seconds of security footage from the cameras, but decided against it. Categorically, he decided that the out of character brief smirk would unnerve the prying eyes of Wally or Lantern more than anything else, should they review the tape. With a measured stare, he turned to directly confront the nearest camera before striding away toward the training rooms. His mental hurdles assessed and handled, he was off to resolve the lingering physical stress held in his muscles.


	3. Assistance Sought, Reservations Kept

Edits and updates. Edits and updates.

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Barbara Gordon eyed the young Robin closely. His nervous eyes darted around the room anxiously as he repeatedly tugged at his short cape to keep from fidgeting. It was hard to accurately categorize the interaction. Was it just the nervous energy of youth being tempered by a more mature standard of training, or was the lad truly that uncomfortable? She always made him a little nervous, she knew that much, but she had never really seen him act so painfully uneasy.

He stuttered and stammered himself to a stop several times while trying to make idle small talk. It was a rare moment. She wasn't witnessing Robin, she was watching Tim Drake pretend to be Robin. The gloves he picked at seemed too large for his hands suddenly and his half-cape began to look like it might swallow the teen's small frame.

Eventually Oracle took pity on the boy and turned her back to him, resuming her work. It was as much to continue her data mining as it was to offer the poor kid an opportunity to compose himself. Seeing his chance, he took a moment to gather his thoughts. He started with the basics, thankful to be free of her discerning glare. The room was rather bare in its appearance, aside from the ridiculously expensive computer console in the center of the room. It seemed almost too large for the simple apartment, but like the estate over Bat Cave, he knew appearances could be deceiving.

He wondered if that was her intention. To hide her true tastes, her true self, by electing to utilize only the most basic of décor. The effect was easy to surmise. It would mean that any visitors she entertained would be forced to see Oracle, the omnipresent, all powerful mistress of cyberspace and not broken little Barbara Gordon.

The realization gave Tim confidence. If Oracle could manage to dictate the way others saw her, the way others perceived her without a shred of cover, then he owed it to her to have at least half the courage she she did.

"I need help with some really… uncomfortable stuff," he said with a confidence he wasn't yet feeling.

Barbara turned to eye him once more. After a measured glance she reassured herself the kid wouldn't trip over himself this time. "Uncomfortable, huh?" A narrow eyebrow rose behind her tortoiseshell frames.

"It's about Nightwing and Bruce," he said more firmly, though he couldn't bring himself to use Dick's name in her presence. A fact that wasn't lost on Barbara.

His poor attempt to be tactful didn't do much to ease the situation. The fact was simple, Barbara Gordon and Richard Grayson had a history more troubled and confusing than a daytime soap opera. Thus far Tim had been able to avoid getting sucked in to their turbulent, and often ridiculous, drama. Now that he was about to be thrust into the center, he didn't know where to begin.

Richard and Barbara shared a bond that was hard to compare on many levels. As the original members to first join Batman in his crusade for justice, they were the first people Bruce openly trusted with his identity and their capabilities as a team grew because of it. Unfortunately the level of trust Batgirl and Robin had placed within each other grew to a far more passionate crescendo than Bruce was prepared to handle. In hindsight, feelings between Dick and Barbara were almost unavoidable. Near the same age, and isolated from their generation by their nightly masquerades above the city, it didn't take them long to become the best of friends. But when that friendship quickly grew to a wildfire blaze of love and passion, at entirely too young an age as far as an unprepared Bruce Wayne was concerned, the team had nearly come undone.

She knew deep down that ultimately Bruce blamed himself. He repeatedly put the teens into dangerous situations that physically and emotionally drained them, without ever really providing an outlet for either to deal with the aftermath. The combined effects of long hours of training and near death experiences pushed the two to find comfort in their young love. Before Bruce had managed to decipher the warning signs, they were hopelessly beyond the point of no return. To this day, it still bothered him.

"What are they fighting over now?" Oracle dismissed lightly, shaking free of the uncomfortable memories. "Bruce and Dick fight like only family can, and more often than either will admit, over nothing."

She saw a reaction to the sad look that must have stolen her features as she thought back to her days with Robin as Batgirl. He looked truly befuddled, but before his costume threatened to swallow him again, he found his resolve and squared his shoulders. It was a show of confidence that almost brought a smile to Barbara's face. The kid was still young, but he'd turn out alright.

"They're keeping secrets. Both of them. Secrets I already know… I just have no idea what to do," Robin admitted, finding strength in the truth.

Oracle spun quickly in her seat and slapped a few keys on her console. The wall of electronics behind her went black and silent. It took a moment, but Robin realized what she had done. It meant they wouldn't be interrupted, and the conversation wouldn't be recorded. Taking the sign of respect for what it was, it made the distasteful truth he had to share with her all the more unpalatable.

"Bruce spied on Nightwing and I think he found out more than he was prepared to handle. I found the mics myself in the Titans' tower. They were Wayne Tech, no doubt about it. But when I traced their signal back to the source… It was inside the Justice League."

"Go on…"

"I had to get Conner to help me out. I traced the signal to a part of the station I didn't have access to, in the barracks. I needed his x-ray vision to be sure…"

"Where was the signal coming from?"

He had her undivided attention at this point. She'd save the questions about the details later. Specifically, how he managed to search the Justice League so thoroughly without being detected. She was also curious as to why private rooms for superhumans, didn't have shielding against x-ray vision.

"It was Diana's room."

She digested that a moment, effectively derailed from her previous line of thought.

Wonder Woman? Wonder Woman was spying on the Titans with Bruce's help, but for how long? And more importantly, why? It wasn't how Bruce would set up an operation. He wouldn't monitor a feed like that anywhere but back in the Bat Cave and his bugs certainly wouldn't be found so easily. None of this was making any sense.

"Well there's Bruce's little secret," Oracle said thoughtfully. "But what is Nightwing keeping from Bruce? If Batman was spying on him, wouldn't he know the secret already?"

"That's the problem. Batman doesn't have the whole story…"

"Spill it," Oracle stated a bit too hotly. She managed to keep her features still, but was absolutely powerless against the blush that crept into her cheeks.

Robin dodged. "I don't know when Bruce made this shady alliance with Wonder Woman, but that doesn't mean I won't figure it out. I always figure out his little secrets. It's what he trained me to do. What he trained _us_ to do."

He watched Oracle's face with a discerning eye. She wasn't having it. Her thin lips were pressed together in a neat line, and her eyes narrowed. The red arcs of her eyebrows were raised in question. He had avoided the elephant in the room as long as he dared. There just wasn't an easy way out of saying it, so he decided to rip the band-aid off. It was his only option.

 _Nightwing's been sleeping with his teammates._ He just couldn't. He couldn't bring himself to say it.

"He found out Dick's got a girlfriend."

#

A sinking realization crept to the forefront of Diana, Princess of Themyscira's mind. She was surrounded. She had been careless, distracted, and now she'd pay the ultimate price. They circled her like vultures, flashes popping randomly, assaulting her senses. She was losing ground as the press jostled each other to get close enough to point microphones. Resigned to her fate and ever the diplomat, she put her best foot forward and attempted to fulfill her duties as both an ambassador and princess.

"One at a time please," she said through a broad, but false, smile. The battle had begun. "I'd be happy to answer whatever questions you might have, there's no need to shout." She put her hands on her hips and made her stand. If she had to suffer through this ambush, she was going to do it on her terms.

Dressed in a maroon pantsuit reminiscent of her battle armor, she cut an imposing figure. Her hair was pinned up and held in place with a solid gold band, completing the outfit. Diana was used to these paparazzi attacks, it came with the territory as a founding member of the Justice League, but without her standard armor she felt vulnerable. Raising herself to her full height, and steadying her breathing, she waited for the circus to begin.

The crowd calmed slightly, their collective voices lowering. They didn't, however, slow the pace of their questioning.

"What do you say to the rumors of you and Green Lantern sharing a private weekend in Paris?"

"Is it true you've been hiding a miscarriage from your teammates?"

"How does Superman feel about your time spent alone with Green Arrow and The Flash?"

"Will you be addressing the rumors you plan to run for President against Lex Luthor?"

 _Where do they get this stuff?_ Diana shook her head. "Green isn't my color and I've never been to France outside of League operations. I hide nothing from my teammates, medical or otherwise. Superman, Green Arrow and The Flash are colleagues of mine, nothing more. I have no desire to run for your Presidency, and as I understand it there are laws which prevent foreigners from obtaining such office." She spoke with a no nonsense tone, answering the questions in order, and as rapidly as they'd been carelessly shouted.

The vultures murmured to themselves, momentarily taken aback back by her candid responses. Diana took her opportunity to go on the offensive.

"You, you, and you," Diana pointed to three reporters who had been silently rolling their eyes during the whirlwind of tabloid gossip. "I'll answer your questions, but you must accompany me inside. I'm running a little behind schedule."

Instantly, the crowd parted and the three quiet reporters fell in step beside her as she made for the entrance to the embassy. Turning from the crowd sharply, she effectively ended the ambush interview.

She held the door for them, as she ushered them inside, glad to finally be free of the crowd. The press had been waiting for her when she stepped from her limo, preying on her predictable daily routine. The delay caused by her departure from the White House gave the cretins the opportunity to gather en masse. A problem she routinely used as an excuse to fly herself between her daily appointments, but in order to fully assimilate into man's world she endured the inconveniences of traveling by car.

Once securely inside the embassy, she pointed to the nearest man with an mp3 recorder in his hands. He looked in pure awe of his surroundings, taking in the fine Greek architecture and paintings. "You can go first," she said as she began to make her way to her private office. Along the way, she waved off the standing security guards behind the front desk.

"Darren Little," the man said slowly, still trying to get his bearings, "from the West Town Gazette. I'm doing a follow-up story to your last press conference in Metropolis, where you publicly implicated Lexcorp's involvement with illegal arms trading. Do you expect to be subpoenaed as a witness in the case?"

Diana didn't break her stride as she headed for the bank of elevators at the end of the wide lobby, her heels clacking against the marble flooring. "Lexcorp missiles were discovered on board a runaway freighter the Justice League received a distress call from. During the course of our on scene investigation we found that the missiles were not on any shipping manifests, and no crew member signed for their loading. That information was released to the public, immediately, as is required of all Justice League operations. Should I be summoned to testify, I will fulfill my civic duty."

"And what do you say to the accusations that the Justice League repeatedly, and unfairly, seems to single out and target assets belonging to Congressman Lex Luthor?" The tallest of the three chimed in. He had not been at all impressed by the opulence of the front lobby, and had a keen eye for Diana's movements. She watched as he took particular notice of which button she pressed on the elevator to reach her office.

In the small confines of the elevator, it was easy to see intimidation on the faces of the smaller men. They were within five feet of the imposing frame of the Amazon warrior and were face to face with their own mortal shortcomings. It seemed to agitate the taller man.

 _He probably isn't accustomed to looking up at women._

Diana considered this briefly and thought of flexing her arms slightly to drive the point home. Her sense or propriety got the best of her though, and she stood taller but otherwise remained still. "I would have to say that such accusations are groundless," her smile never faltered.

"Are we really going to get to see the inside of your office?" the third, and most diminutive male of the three asked with something akin to hero worship in his voice. He was taking video with his phone, allowing his voice to shake instead of his hands.

"My lobby, certainly," she said warmly. "Unfortunately my office is off limits for security reasons. You understand, of course."

Little rolled his eyes. "Kiss ass."

"Don't get your hopes up kid, she's a documented lesbian anyway."

"Nonsense," Diana stated flatly. "I'm not from the isle of Lesbos, but Themyscira. I've never understood that rumor." She couldn't resist the sardonic humor. Her retort had the desired effect, and seemed to take the wind from the more aggressive reporter's sails. Having answered a question from each, she considered her obligations met. "I thank you all for coming," she interjected before the group could gather their wits. "If you have any further questions, please leave your card with my secretary. She'll escort you out the private entrance in the west wing of the building."

"You mean the one you should have used today?" The kiss ass asked.

"Indeed, I think so," she said with a beaming smile. In that moment, and in full view of what a genuine smile did to her beautiful features, the men were struck silent.

A blonde woman rose from a circular desk in the center of the room and hurried to her side. She was dressed in traditional Themysciran attire, complete with golden lace and white robes. Draped across her arms, she carried a bag of dry cleaning. Diana gave her subordinate a quick nod, before shaking hands with the reporters and taking the garment.

"One more thing ma'am," the Darren Little asked quickly before the secretary could usher them back. "Help a guy out, will ya? My friend works in the society section and she sure could use a head start against all those vultures out there. Tonight, there are five different charity events and fundraising galas in the tri-state area with unconfirmed guests of honor. Each event benefits a cause Wonder Woman publicly supports. So… Which will you be attending?"

The question received the undivided attention of his compatriots.

"Clever man," Diana said with a dismissive wave. "Mr... Little, was it? For my own amusement, which would you guess?"

"Well, we've got it down to two, ma'am. But my friend… she's only assigned to cover the Wayne Foundation's disaster relief benefit."

"Your friend is in luck, I'll be there in two hours. Permitting I have the time to get ready. Any further questions?"

The three men shook their heads, reeling from another one of her radiant grins. Slowly, they turned to follow her secretary back to the elevator. It wasn't until they were all inside and descending that they managed to come to their senses. The tallest of them laughing along the way. "She's a damned good liar, that one."

"I'm sorry?" The regal looking secretary asked.

"D.C. to Gotham in two hours? Who's she kidding?"


	4. The Dance

Hey look a chapter.

##### 

It was an easy task, navigating the crowded room. Beneath opulent chandeliers and soft glowing lights, Bruce Wayne mingled with society's elite. It had been ages since Wayne attended one of these awful events, and even longer since he stayed for more than an hour. Tonight was different. Tonight he was resolved to wear the mask of Bruce Wayne for the length of the entire gala, from opening to close.

It took at least an hour after his arrival before he finally relaxed. When he first reached the party he made a circuit around the room shaking hands and kissing cheeks in a standard, aloof manner. He'd actually been assessing ingress and egress routes and surveying possible security liabilities. After making the rounds, twice, he was finally able to relax. It wasn't much, but it allowed him to get started with his performance as Bruce Wayne for the night.

He began double fisting champagne, and leering at passing cleavage.

He played the fop beautifully though he was slightly out of practice. Gotham's social elite never knew what hit them. In his tailor made suit of coal black and muted grey tones, a crimson red boutonniere contrasted his brilliant blue eyes. The golden son of Gotham was on full display and in full character. The wall of paparazzi at the entrance out front were thrilled with the rare sighting. The debutantes and gold diggers alike shared in the joy of the press. The most eligible, not to mention wealthiest, bachelor in the tri-state area had come out to play. The common rabble of low rent millionaires orbited about his person at every step. They were desperate to be spotted in any photo taken of the billionaire, and eager to introduce themselves to the man of the hour should the opportunity arise. Just being pictured in a casual conversation behind the infamous Bruce Wayne could do wonders for a political campaign or business pitch for years to come.

The hangers-on seemed to grow in number at each event as of late. It was why he began avoiding them entirely. Bruce Wayne had initiated a greater push for Gotham city's wealthier circles to take an active role in rebuilding the city with charity works and donations. It had been a roaring success. At first.

After a week's worth of special events, it became clear that the patrons of the evening weren't interested in donating to any real altruistic causes. They only viewed the checks to charity as the price tag that came with an evening spent with a direct line to Bruce Wayne himself.

It was enough to make Wayne sick to his stomach. He could force himself to attend, he could force himself to take part in this ridiculous charade, but he couldn't force himself to enjoy it. In fact, he was taking less joy in playing the role than he'd grown accustomed to over the years. And tonight the performance wasn't even serving its intended purpose. He was trying to force a distraction on himself, but was failing miserably. The issues at hand were just too big to push from the front of his mind for long.

Periodically he found himself lost in thought about how to handle his spat with Dick, or worse, what to do about his last conversation with Diana. It was a vicious cycle from which he couldn't shake free and it brought an unbidden grimace to his face as he worried over his troubles. Before he knew it, he was scowling at the passing guests. Their stunned expressions alerting him to his lapse in character. Rebounding, he grabbed more champagne and made a show of draining the glass. To the masses, it looked like poor Bruce Wayne was drinking away a bad breakup. To the more business minded, it looked like Wayne was taking his losses for the last quarter rather roughly.

Nearing the end of his patience, he was starting to plan his exit. Bruce had failed. He couldn't find the distraction he so desperately needed, and it was threatening to shatter both sides of the mask. He had formulated six separate exits that would avoid the press outside and at least nine different ways to excuse himself should he choose to just walk out the front. His hesitation stemmed solely from the fact that an early exit meant he wouldn't get to see Diana, or her reaction to any of the gifts he set aside for her.

Wonder Woman was set to present the last article up for bid at the night's silent auction, as the guest of honor. True to form, Bruce Wayne had gone above and beyond to publicize the celebrity of his secret final presenter. Once, as Batman, he'd been assured of her presence personally, he sent out press kits to every news outlet in the country. Diana had confirmed her attendance in standard procedure for all JLA members, she sought Batman's approval for entering Gotham. While she hadn't exactly asked for permission, it was a nice enough concession on her part to tell Batman she'd be in Gotham for the night. Her appearance cemented, Bruce Wayne set into motion immediately. He secured the most lavish accommodations and gifts for the Princess of Themyscira. Wayne was famous for pampering his playthings with his patented princess treatment, so he was eager to see how his skills would measure against the real thing. At least, that's what he told himself as he booked reservation after reservation. The price tags on some of those gifts were enough to make even _his_ eyebrows raise.

The contradiction drove him mad. It was as common for Bruce Wayne and Batman to have different agendas, but very rarely did they clash directly. Rarer still was when both sides of his persona were in agreement, evidenced by his gifts to Diana. There was no way he could put forth that much effort without both sides of his mind working in concert.

He knew Diana had eschewed the majority of perks that came with her royal title, choosing instead to adhere to a life of an inauspicious ambassador. It was her way of assimilating in the world she'd sworn to protect. It was an endearing sacrifice on her part. One that far too few ever took notice of and one that Batman found a commonality with. This was his attempt to treat her differently than any man had before, or even could. Anyone could bow before royalty, but who could make a woman feel like a queen? She deserved it. After all, how many people born to a life of luxury and leisure dedicate their lives to protecting those who cannot defend themselves? How many people would turn away from their golden towers, to face the monsters of society on behalf of the downtrodden?

It was an overwhelming thought. Both Bruce and the Dark Knight within wanted to spoil Diana.

Panic gripped his chest tightly as the weight of that epiphany hit him squarely in the gut. Before he could come to terms with his realization, a shrill voice cut through the bustling noise of the crowd.

"Oh Brucie!" an elderly patron hollered. Mrs. Gene Kingston, newly widowed and now more committed to her charity work than ever before, was desperate for his attention. Wayne was momentarily confused by her outburst, and pushed his rising emotions aside. She had already obtained a sizable donation from the Wayne Foundation earlier in the night after cornering him by the champagne, what could she be after now?

In all honesty, he didn't mind the woman he just didn't care for her shrill tone and loud voice. She was, however, a powerful philanthropic force for good within Gotham. It made it almost impossible for Wayne to ever tell the woman no.

"Brucie, darling," she gushed as he parted the crowd toward her, drawing attention. Wherever Bruce Wayne moved, eyes followed. He made an effort to stagger slightly, laying the foundation for a full on drunken display later in the evening. It would help explain his early exit.

"Yes, Mrs. Kingston?" he asked warmly, taking her outstretched hand in his.

"It's been almost two hours, so before you pull one of your vanishing acts I have someone here you absolutely must meet. She's a real up and comer in the world of caviar and champagne and, I'm told by people who know these things, that she's just opened the hottest nightclub in Gotham. Oh, look who I'm talking to," she swatted his arm. "You probably have reservations already. But at least let me introduce you before you go. It will set a much better tone, don't you think? Meeting at one of my galas instead of some loud, garish club."

For the first time that night, Wayne didn't have to push aside his warring thoughts. Nightclub? What on earth was the woman talking about?

Mrs. Kingston was practically running off at the mouth while she dragged him back toward a group of people encircled around a woman. Each was paying rapt attention to the woman's every word. Mrs. Kingston didn't slow. She was speaking at a frantic pace and moved with a sense of purpose. It was as if she knew if she paused long enough, Bruce would excuse himself away.

"Now you simply must promise me," Mrs. Kingston grinned wickedly, "When you fall in love and have children, you'll tell them all that it was Great Aunt K that made it happen!"

Bruce took the opening. "Forgive me Gene, but don't you normally try to steer your protégés away from me?" He said through a wicked grin and with a predatory glint in his eye.

"Nonsense," Mrs. Kingston laughed. "I tell all my little angels to expect nothing more than a check from the foundation or a single weekend of the good life, and nothing else. I let each of my angels make their own mistakes. Yourself included."

"So which is this little angel of yours looking for, exactly? The check or the weekend?"

She smiled brightly, nodding toward the angel in question. Bruce couldn't quite make out a face from behind the circle gawkers. Mrs. Kingston squeezed his hand and pulled him close, "She needs the check, but you my boy, will wish she asked for the weekend."

Wayne couldn't help but smile at the saucy matron. She still had her wiles, to be sure. Inwardly, however, the Bat bristled. In the recesses of his mind, Batman took Wayne's lapse in judgement as a failure. Bruce Wayne had just been out maneuvered, socially. However this little meeting played out, it was going to be through Kingston's influence and agenda. The annoyance was short lived as Wayne stuffed the Bat deeper away from the surface, before its scowl could reach his face.

"Selina. Oh, Selina dear," Mrs. Kingston called, effectively freezing the blood in Bruce's veins. The scowl nearly made it to the surface again.

The woman paused her conversation when she saw Kingston through her captivated audience and Bruce's breath caught in his throat.

The part of his personality that was caged for the evening swore. Loudly.

Bruce didn't fare much better for that matter. "Oh fuck me," he hissed.

Wayne ran through the guest list in his head while Gene Kingston did her best to stifle a not so demure giggle. Catwoman was definitely not on the list, nor any of her known aliases. This had to be coincidence. It had to be a different Selina. He _prayed_ it was a different Selina.

He fucking knew better than to hope.

Carving through the gathered crowd stalked a tall brunette with sharp features and a trail of admirers in her wake. She wore a violet slim fitting gown with sequins sewn in the fabric giving the illusion of a floral pattern. Or a leopard's spots. The outfit had a plunging neckline that exposed almost the entirety of her well sculpted torso. A slit ran the full length of her left side and ended at the hip, displaying an impressively toned and shapely leg. Around her neck, a thin silver chain held a massive diamond that rested just above her exposed navel. Her hair was expertly coiled and piled atop her head. Wayne thought it looked like she'd cut it shorter since last they met.

The repressed psyche within himself that was Batman began fuming with rage. Shock, however, rendered the inner Bat absolutely powerless. Though if his breath hadn't just been knocked from him, a scowl might have slipped through.

"Miss Kyle here has the hottest new business in town, she's practically beating away investors with a stick… and gentlemen callers too, as I hear it. So I thought it only fitting that I introduce her to you, Brucie. Something convenient about one stop shopping, isn't there? Two birds one Bruce… What do you say?" She punctuated her cause with an elbow to Bruce's arm. He let the motion jostle his champagne glass as he took a sip, pretending to choke.

"Bruce Wayne, may I be the first to introduce you to-"

"Selina Kyle," Bruce interrupted uncontrollably. Apparently his champagne tolerance had waned as of late.

Selina moved with an ethereal grace as she lifted her hand to him. Her bright eyes raked him over slowly, curiously. Bruce snatched the hand and kissed it, flirtatiously. A cheap trick, but he needed to break her eye contact quickly. Every exchange between them in costume was cold and rigid but above all, seductive. Bruce knew his only hope was to stay light and playful to give himself an edge, but he also knew Selina was no fool. This was going to be dangerous.

"You've met?" Mrs. Kingston looked deflated.

Selina eyed him more carefully before shaking her head. "No, I don't think so. You know me, I'm terrible with names… but I never forget a face." She paused, drinking him in. "emHave/em we met before?"

"No, no," Bruce offered shyly. "I'm just something of a fan. Your face was all over the news when-"

"Bruce Wayne!" Gene Kingston looked like she might actually strike him. "You should know better than anyone not to listen to those mudslinging liars in the press. The media accused poor Selina of being the Catwoman without a shred of proof. Those vultures dragged the poor dear through miles of mud before anyone bothered publishing a retraction of those baseless charges. Which were all dropped, I might add!"

"It's alright, Gene," Selina offered dismissively, waving away the subject. "In the end I took a page from the Bruce Wayne playbook, actually. This is rather fitting, to finally meet."

"You did?" he couldn't help himself. He didn't bother to blame the champagne this time.

She giggled at his earnest confusion. Her tinkling laugh echoed in his ears. "The press struck first, but I hit back harder. I hired the right attorneys, sued the right people for libel. Started my first firm doing consultant work with the money."

"Consulting?" He hadn't been able to track her movements once she'd gone underground almost two years ago. Bruce was genuinely intrigued.

Before he could make any progress, Mrs. Kingston pulled the champagne glasses from their hands. "Well you two obviously have some talking to do," she then placed Selina's hand in his. "Why don't you two discuss things over a dance? Quickly now, Brucie. I see that dreadful old coot Harrison making his way over to steal her away and bore her to death."

With an insistent shove, she pushed them towards the expansive dance floor in the center of the hall. As soon as their feet touched the polished floor, couples immediately began to follow their lead. Where Bruce Wayne danced, pictures followed, and no 'it' couple in Gotham could turn down the opportunity to be in the background of magazine covers the world over. Oddly enough, Bruce couldn't help but feel that more than a few were just after the opportunity to be filmed beside Selina too.

The twelve piece orchestra began the opening measures of a waltz as the socialites descended on the floor. In the chaos, he and Selina had been driven to the absolute center of the tile. Escape cut off, Wayne dug in his heels. Selina pressed herself to his side, and he placed a hand on the small of her bare back. Feeling her bare flesh Bruce wondered what ungodly amount of body tape held the dress in place. The brooding darkness of his other persona however, snarled a warning in the back of his mind. He was playing, now literally dancing, with fire.

"She's a bit pushy, isn't she?" Selina offered quietly as they began to step in time with the music. She followed his lead effortlessly, anticipating his every step with ease.

"She means well enough, sometimes anyway." Bruce smiled, noticing the practiced grace of her movement with him.

Selina's eyes met his with a look he couldn't place. She was studying his features closely, the warmth of her breath reaching his neck. He spun her quickly, a move not in character with the waltz, but in time with the music. Her quick feet and perfect balance made the move as sensual as it was sudden. Her skirt fanned out around her dramatically and flashbulbs went off by the dozen. One measure later, every other couple had imitated the move. Some more graceful than others.

He took the moment to collect his thoughts and form some rules of engagement to follow. As long as he kept playing to the crowd, this would look perfectly normal. As long as he could keep her from staring at him like that for too long, he'd be alright. This dance was going to be as complicated and dangerous as his previous tussles with her, only now he couldn't exactly play the silent, brooding type when she managed to get under his skin.

 _"What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?"_ He could already hear her goading.

"So tell me about your consulting firm," Bruce pushed the narrative, returning to work appeased the anxious crusader within.

"Security consulting, mostly. I figured since my particular skill set was advertised so openly by every major news outlet in the state, I might as well make use the free publicity. It worked rather well, if I do say so myself."

They danced more traditionally as he processed that information. "I thought you were innocent?" The question sounded harder, even in his ears, than he intended.

Her eyes sparkled and she smiled playfully. "Mr. Wayne, I said I wasn't the criminal the press painted me to be. I never said I was _innocent_. Besides, most of what they said was true. I was, at the time, a rather successful dealer of fine art. And I do have an extensive background in physical security and asset procurement. Not to mention, the lofty career field of wealth management certainly has its appeal."

"Funny way of admitting to owning a catsuit, Ms. Kyle."

He teased to stall for time, trying to buy himself a moment to think clearly. The smirk on her face told him he hadn't quite knocked her off her game.

"In several styles and colors, as a matter of fact. A girl's got to accessorize, you know. Play your cards right and you might get to see one someday, Mr. Wayne." There was an odd hint of promise in her voice.

The hidden half of his psyche busied itself deciphering her message. Was her plan actually to rob Bruce from right under his nose? That would explain her sudden appearance at the gala and her not so subtle lack of tact. He was at a disadvantage in this dance. Batman knew how to handle her playful, sometimes sexually suggestive, tone. Bruce Wayne, staring down the barrel of those beautiful green eyes, was utterly defenseless.

As much as he hated to admit it, he missed this.

"Call me Bruce," his mouth spoke under its own authority, ignoring his brain.

She fixed him with another look he couldn't decipher. Her eyes danced between his, searching. For the briefest of moments, he saw her lips press slightly together as she began to question herself.

He twirled her once more, then pulled her close, forcing her to break eye contact again. His mind raced as he tried to gather his thoughts. Just like she did when they met under the cape and cowl, she was getting under his skin. It was troubling.

It was intoxicating.

The music ended and a soft applause sprang from the dance floor around them. Bruce stood, rooted to the ground unable to function. In his mind, he was warring with the inner mask. He was being too careless. This was absolutely not on the list of acceptable distractions he'd been considering for Bruce Wayne to undertake. This was dangerous. _She_ was dangerous.

The applause around them died down and Selina took his hand to lead him from the floor. Immediately, the musicians began a more lively song akin to a tango. With a playful smile, she waited.

She was giving him the lead. He could either pull her close and dance once more, or follow her from the dance floor and retreat. Before the dilemma had a chance to fully develop, a member of the wait staff serenely approached through the crowd.

"The evening's guest of honor has arrived, Mr. Wayne. I'm told she'll be down shortly." The message delivered, the waiter evaporated back into the sea of patrons. With so many people bustling around the dance floor, it was as if he was never there in the first place.

Her eyes held his, a challenging smirk in place. Almost every guest in attendance, now off the dance floor, watched and waited. Their hungry eyes waiting for a conclusion to the standoff they left at show center.

"On the dance floor before your date even arrives? Bad form, Brucie dear. Even for a man of your reputation," Selina challenged with a wink. She sounded half serious in her rebuke and he wasn't sure she was being entirely playful. He was almost certain had the exchange happened in costume, it would have been paired with a slash of her claws.

His hand forced, Bruce Wayne struggled to find a viable way out. Batman could not allow this to continue, but Bruce Wayne absolutely could not let this opportunity go to waste. At least that's what he told himself as he pulled her close and wrapped one arm around her, the other slowly drawing itself up the thigh she instinctively draped over his.

The tango, it seemed, would go on. 

#####

So this chapter is the first to get the largest of my reworking/editing efforts. I wasn't happy with it in its previous form. It just didn't have the right feel, and at times the framing device wasn't consistent enough for my liking. I'm my own worst critic, after all.

I haven't changed any of the information presented in this chapter, nor have I really changed any of the themes it held. I essentially just changed the way I presented the information. I'm happier with the result, and I think I will continue to post rewrites periodically as I work through some things. I'm not changing the story, and I'm not hiding any new information to rework my canon. I'm just making the most of my current situation. I don't have or utilize any beta readers. So essentially, once a chapter goes up, I'm happy enough with it for general consumption. But after a bit of reflection, and with the benefit of hindsight I'm able to see how I should have written things, or how I missed what I wanted to really say. That's where these ninja edits come in. 


	5. Gifts

The edits continue.

#####

Diana flew as fast as her gift from Hermes would allow. Following her impromptu interview session and some last minute paperwork, she finished for the day and left from the roof of the embassy. In her hurry, she'd chosen to opt out of the more formal evening wear she picked out for the occasion. She wasn't planning on staying long anyway, and she was sure the patrons wouldn't mind. She was Wonder Woman after all, so why not dress the part?

Diana soared through the treetops and between buildings, as low as she dared. At these speeds it was dangerous to fly any higher without official clearances. Whenever hers or Kal-El's flight paths mingled with civilian air traffic, the FAA would file complaints. Hoping to avoid incident, she stayed low, even if it meant having to dodge the occasional obstruction.

' _Wonder Woman_ _, I have a request to connect you with Superman.'_ The voice of J'onn J'onzz echoed in her head.

' _Is something wrong?'_ Diana answered mentally. Maybe she could postpone the gala, or avoid it entirely if the JLA needed her. She hated these boring official events anyway.

' _Everything is fine at the present. I'm connecting you now.'_

' _Diana?'_

' _Calling to see if you can take my place tonight, Kal-El? Fine, I accept.'_ Diana replied coolly.

' _I guess that means you're on your way already. Do you really want to back out that badly?'_ She could hear his laughter in her head.

' _No, I suppose not. I gave my word I'd attend. Too late to drop out now. What do you need?'_ She zoomed around a large tower before reaching the edge of the city. Diana dropped even lower here, skipping off the treetops in the outskirts of town.

' _I wanted to… Well Lois wants me to talk to you about… Well… Warn you about Bruce Wayne."_ Diana wasn't sure if it was a product of their mental link or if he was being intentionally vague. She could feel the unease in his words.

' _I've met plenty of egomaniacs before, I'm sure I can handle myself.'_ It wasn't like Kal-El to be this protective. Did he really think she'd fall for the rehearsed and cheesy charms of some rich rake? She allowed her anger to be felt through their connection.

' _I'm sure you can, I'm sure you can. I just don't want you to be… Just… Man this is harder than I thought it would be…'_

Diana rolled her eyes. In these moments, she wondered how he kept his identity a secret at all. He seemed to fade into a befuddled farm boy at the drop of a hat. While Kal-El was strength and power personified, Clark Kent was the walking embodiment of "aw shucks".

A glowing city began to take form before her, coming in to view slowly as she crested a small hill. _'Running out of time Kal, I can see Gotham from here. Out with it.'_

' _Just give him a shot. Ok? Not everything they write about him is true. He's… A good guy. But don't let your guard down. Bruce can and will surprise you. He's good at that.'_

Diana began to ascend to the rooftops as she searched for her destination below. It was always harder to find the right address without being able to actually see the numbers on the buildings below, so she'd taken to memorizing aerial maps.

' _You aren't afraid I'm going to deck your employer, are you?'_

' _Bruce Wayne owns the Daily Planet. Not me.'_ Diana could feel the resolve in his voice.

' _Then what are you trying to say?'_

She began a quick circle around her intended landing site, double checking her accuracy. With a slow, measured pace to allow Kal-El to finish the conversation she began her descent.

' _Just… He's…'_ Frustration welled between their link. _'Just don't let him fool you.'_

Diana felt the link between them break. Kal must have requested J'onn to separate them. It made the whole conversation even stranger. What had Superman been trying to say? She knew as Clark Kent he had a working relationship with Bruce Wayne, but she couldn't fathom what he was trying to hint at.

As her feet hit the parking lot, a door opened at the rear of the building she was facing. Quickly, a small team of event security spread out before her. They didn't move aggressively, but she got the distinct feeling they were accustomed to handling themselves around metas.

"Princess Diana," a wiry woman stepped forward and bent in a deep bow. "I'm thrilled you could join us. My name is Heather Lark, executive of personal affairs for Mr. Wayne." A quick glance told her all she needed to know about Diana's opinion of her reception. "Please don't concern yourself with security. Mr. Wayne insisted on hiring only the best so you could enjoy yourself tonight. Would you like to see your room?"

"My room?" Diana was floored. Wayne had ordered security? For her? How absurd! She could deflect gunfire! Great Hera, how could he hire a team of mortals to protect _her_? If anything were to happen, she'd have to save them before they put themselves in danger. This Mr. Wayne was an idiot.

"Yes, Princess," the young woman positively beamed. "Mr. Wayne reserved the Primrose Suite at the hotel for you to use as you wish. Your gifts are waiting inside."

"My what?"

As they walked inside, the security detail fell instep behind and beside them. They moved with a practiced efficiency. Some took point and cleared the path ahead as others kept a respectable distance behind. Diana had only seen men act this way when she interacted with the President during their JLA meetings. What in Hera's name was going on here?

The energetic woman led Diana down a series of halls before arriving at a private elevator that only had service to one floor. The security team escorted them inside, then paused, holding position. Diana was thankful for the discretion. It would have been entirely too cramped with them all inside the private lift.

"What is this all about? I thought I was just here to speak on behalf of the charity? I won't be needing all of this."

"Mr. Wayne thought you might refuse his hospitality, but gave us all explicit directions. My only job is to show you to your rooms. What you choose to do, and how you spend your evening is up to you of course." The woman deferred expertly.

Diana thought she had to be one of his most experienced secretaries from the way she handled herself. She made every courtesy to maintain respect for Diana's birthright and title as royalty, but her tone prevented any argument.

Before Diana could venture any further form of protest, the doors of the elevator opened and she was treated to a view unlike any she had experienced before. The lavish sight that greeted her took her by marked surprise. The rooms were magnificently appointed with fresh flowers and gift baskets. A large bouquet of red roses sat atop a black baby grand piano to her left, and the far wall was comprised of nothing but floor to ceiling windows. The expansive view of the city lights below cast the room in a muted light. The plush red carpets quietly muffled her footsteps as she stepped inside.

She could see in one of the adjoining rooms, a bathtub the size of a small pool with the water jets already turned on. Large columns moulded up from the floor, their white marble contrasting sharply with the red hanging curtains.

Diana was having a hard time processing the sight.

"Holy Hera…" a whisper escaped her lips.

"And now for the gifts, Princess Diana," Lark cut through her dazed thoughts. She began directing Diana toward the main chamber.

When Diana fully entered the suite, she saw a large vanity sitting in the center of the room. It was complete with an opulently plush sitting chair, and full sized dresser. Wordlessly, a team of women stepped out from the master bedroom. Each busied themselves preparing things at the vanity. Some began opening different containers of makeup, others began laying out clothes from the dresser.

"What… What is this? What are they doing?" Diana couldn't help but stammer. She was staring agape as the women sorted through various gowns.

"Mr. Wayne thought you might wish to dress for the affair. We have hired the most talented and experienced beauticians, designers, and stylists for you to use as you please." The woman then slipped an envelope into Diana's hands. "With this, my job for the evening is done. But if I may be so bold as to offer some advice, Princess?"

Diana could hardly nod her head, shock rooted her still.

"Every person in this room was handpicked personally by Mr. Wayne, and you are under no obligation to utilize any of their service," the woman smiled.

Diana's mouth began to water as she watched two attendants open a bottle of champagne next to a silver tray of assorted figs and chocolate covered strawberries.

Heather Lark smiled brightly, "But it would be an awful shame to let such hospitality go to waste." Without another word, the woman turned crisply and left the room. As she stepped in the elevator, two female security guards exited. Each took a place beside the elevator doors, standing watch.

Diana watched the secretary leave, wonder still etched on her features. She saw a satisfied smirk appear on Lark's face as the doors to the elevator came to a close.

Her curiosity piqued, she tore open the envelope she'd been handed. Diana dug out the small card within, marked with official Wayne Foundation letterhead. Inside, a flowing handwritten script added a personal touch.

 _I figured it best to ask forgiveness, rather than permission. At least try the strawberries, they were flown in this morning._

 _~BW_

 _-P.S. The dresses are yours, regardless of which you pick for the night. I'm partial to the blue one myself…_

Behind her, an attendant cleared her throat. "Shall we begin, Princess Diana?" a thick Brazilian accent cut through the silence.

Diana whirled in place to see a tall woman offering her a glass of champagne on a silver tray. Behind the attendant, the full team of stylists were prepped and ready for her.

 _Well played Mr. Wayne. Well played indeed._

#####

"What are you doing here?" Nightwing's voice crackled through Robin's earpiece.

"I couldn't get in touch with Oracle, so I tried to reach Bruce. He wasn't responding so I figured I'd better check in. Why are _you_ here?" Tim answered defensively. He had just landed on the roof he picked out to monitor the charity event taking place across the street. The high vantage point coupled with the large windows of the building holding the gala made for a perfect view. It irked him slightly, to know he had been seen reaching it.

But not knowing where Nightwing was bothered him more.

"Batman takes a night off, Nightwing steps up to the plate. Same system it's always been. Wait, you can't reach Babs either?"

"Nope. She's been radio silent all night, but her comm system is still linked. I guess she's just busy. And don't lie to me. You saw Wonder Woman fly in, so you followed her too. How's the party so far?" Robin asked innocently. He sounded bored.

Reaching into his belt, he snagged a monocular scope and began peering through the windows, looking for Bruce.

"You don't want to do that," Nightwing warned. "If you were smart, you'd put that away and go back on patrol."

Robin snorted. Dick just wasn't happy unless he was barking orders at someone. Tim knew him to be a reliable teammate, but he had also always found Grayson to be a piss poor leader. Too much bravado, not enough communication. At least that was always how he treated Robin, anyway.

"Mind your own business," Tim snapped back. "And for that matter, mind your own city. I've got things handled here. Batman doesn't need backup from outsiders, he's got me. Nothing in Gotham slips past—WHAT THE FUCK?!"

The image focused in the monocular like a dream. Bruce was on the dance floor. He was smiling. He held a woman close, too close. Closer than Tim had ever seen anyone get to his person. She was smiling too, laughing at something he'd said. Behind Tim, soft footfalls announced Nightwing's arrival.

"Well 'Boy Wonder', if nothing slips past you, then would you care to explain to me how Selina found her way into Bruce's arms tonight?"

Tim didn't turn around. His eye was glued to the scene. "Selina fucking Kyle? You have got to be fucking kidding me."

"Language," Dick admonished through a chuckle.

Robin smiled. Gratuitous swearing was his way of making sure Dick didn't look at him like a kid. He was oblivious to the fact it only made him seem so much younger than he was.

Bruce was spinning his dance partner now, the floor had been cleared to give them room. They moved energetically, wildly with the music. There was a look on Bruce's face Tim had never seen before.

"Just what the hell is going on in there?" Tim asked.

"I'll explain when you're older."

"Very fucking funny, asshole. I _mean,_ what's he doing with Catwoman? I thought tonight was all about Diana?"

Tim could sense Nightwing bristle behind him. "Who told you about that?"

Robin, fixated on the dancing, casually threw the answer over his shoulder to Dick. "Blah blah blah, secrets. Blah blah, bugged the tower. Blah blah blah dirty laundry." Tim punctuated his disinterest in the conversation with a dismissive wave of his free hand.

"Oh great, so _everybody_ knows?" Dick sounded defeated.

"About you and Starfire? No. That one was new. Diana and Bruce? They're old news. We've all just been waiting," Tim said.

The dancing couple were ripped from view as Nightwing spun Robin to face him. "What are you talking about?"

Tim smiled a triumphant grin. "Not everything is about you, stupid. I mean, did you even bother to look for the bug once you figured it out? Well I did. I found it in Conner's room. And thank god I did, because I'd never have been able to find the source in Diana's room without his help."

"Wait…" Dick paled. "Conner's room?"

Tim could see Nightwing putting the pieces together, but he wasn't about to let him off the hook. He wanted to drag this out as best he could. Dick had earned it, for sure.

"So Bruce puts a mic in Superboy's room, with the recorder based where Diana could monitor it. Now why would Wonder Woman want to spy on Superboy, do you think?"

Nightwing took the bait, "He wasn't spying on me… He was spying on Cassie and Conner... for Diana."

Tim grinned from ear to ear. "Now imagine the looks on Bruce and Diana's faces when they sat down to review the tape, and heard an entirely different couple getting hot and heavy in Conner's room."

Tim played his trump card. He was able to put everything together on his own, but he'd also managed to get his hands on the actual recording itself. Bruce backed up everything that was transmitted to Diana on the main terminal in the cave. Robin made short work of Bruce's security measures and had the recordings unencrypted in no time. His knowing smile told Dick all he needed to know.

"But we didn't…" Dick stammered. "It's not what you think. It's… complicated."

"Well _I_ think you're an idiot," Robin laughed easily. "But it's not about what I think. Your problem right now, is what Bruce thinks. And right now I'd say he's got a lot to think about, wouldn't you?"

Before Nightwing could form a response, screeching tires cut through the silent night. A dark grey SUV was speeding away from the front of the building across the street, turning so hard it ran on two wheels momentarily as it slid around a corner. Without hesitation, both Nightwing and Robin began to leap from the ledge off the roof, beginning a pursuit.

An explosion knocked them from their feet so suddenly the world seemed to fall away. Tim could hear glass shattering and falling from the buildings beside him as he fell. He was in free fall, tumbling and spinning wildly toward the street below. Slowly, he began to feel the heat of the explosion as he neared the end of his descent. He'd fallen before, but not from nearly this high up. The worst injury he ever received during training was when a grappling line snapped above the city. That impact left him sidelined with a stress fracture in his left tibia that he thought would never heal. This fall was from nearly twice that distance.

Cracked bones and internal hemorrhaging would be almost unavoidable, but he'd live. He braced for impact, and accepted his fate.

#####

Sorry for the delay folks. Some wires got crossed with the instructions I left for the chapters to be posted. Back from vacation now. Posting to be resumed immediately. Also ninja edits. So many ninja edits.


	6. The Main Event

She tried to tally it in her head. How much had Bruce Wayne spent to impress her? Each dress was nearly priceless. The room alone had to have been worth a fortune for just a night's stay. What about the attendants? How much was the useless security detail that now surrounded her as she made her way to the ballroom? She couldn't begin to fathom the expenses.

 _Well, whatever he paid for the chocolate was worth it,_ Diana thought airily.

The evening wear she'd selected accented not only her tiara and bracers beautifully, but her curves and height. The three quarter slit in the flowing blue gown showed her shapely legs, while the off-shoulder top showed the strength in her frame. Her hair was brushed to its full volume, elegantly framing her face, and affording her a look of effortless beauty. With the slightest application of makeup to line her lips, she was a unique natural beauty that had no equal. The styling team had hardly been needed, aside from the refilling of champagne of course.

Diana allowed her mind to ponder the price tags longer than she ever normally would. Even though she was a princess, she cared little for material things. It was just a distraction from the real stress she could feel building in her shoulders. The remnants of the stress headache she battled for the last week slowly grew back. Her subconscious was constantly listless as of late. The problem that fell in her lap through her efforts to spy on Cassie had shattered her normal composure. The entire episode, from Cassie's first involvement with Conner, could have been handled better. In hindsight, it was painfully obvious that enlisting the assistance of Batman was a terrible idea. It complicated the entire affair far beyond what she could have ever anticipated.

How could she scold Cassie for fraternizing with teammates, when she couldn't stand up to the same level of scrutiny? It was hypocritical, she knew. Almost ironic, in fact. To establish boundaries for Cassie wherever Conner was concerned, she reached out to Batman to help. If that wasn't the pot calling the kettle black, she clearly didn't understand the expression.

She agonized over it for months. When she first learned of her protégé's date with Superboy, she had half a mind to snare the kid in her lasso and give him the third degree. Just how long had he had his eye on Cassie, exactly? Had Diana done this to herself by pushing Cassie into a team too early? Was it puppy love? Some passing teenage hormonal infatuation? How had he managed to instigate and trick her in to such a bad decision? She needed to know his intentions toward Cassie soon, or she'd never get a good night's sleep again. Worrying over their ill-advised entanglement was keeping her up at night.

But who was she to worry? To what extent was Wonder Woman responsible for Wonder Girl? It tore her up inside. The question could only be answered with another. Just what was Diana Prince to Cassandra Sandsmark? Diana chewed the inside of her cheek pondering the answer as she made her way to the gala.

The trip to the main ballroom was a short one, after her private elevator ride. Just as before, when she stepped out of the doors she was flanked by a team of security personnel that immediately established a perimeter. Six bodies in all, guarding her front and rear while others secured doorways as she passed. It made her feel guilty, watching them work. Her travel was clearly restricting the movements of the wait staff, as the guards refused to let anyone pass by or cut through the hall as she paced toward the sound of music.

The interruption made the presence of such guards even more aggravating. They would only be a liability in the event of catastrophe, but they also prevented the event's staff from circulating as needed. Diana wished deeply that her presence wasn't negatively effecting the night's festivities. If she got the chance to actually speak with Mr. Wayne, she was going to insist on his never hiring security for her again.

 _Again?_

She hadn't even been formally introduced, yet so easily imagined herself spending more time with the man? She shook her head in annoyance, even though more nights in Gotham would mean more Dark Knight in her future. At any rate, such assurances would make sure Mr. Wayne never made the same mistake when handling the affairs of other heroes. Any action, if scrutinized closely enough, can be attributed to altruism in the end.

Rounding one final corner, her security detail fanned out dramatically. They had come to the backstage portion of the room, behind the main curtain. The team took up strategic locations along the edge of the curtain, listening intently to the other side. The members that had been trailing her then took positions at each of the doors backstage. Absolutely no one would be gaining access backstage without running in to a broad man in a black suit.

A smile crept its way on to her lips. Just what _was_ Batman up to tonight anyway? If she left this benefit right after her presentation, would she catch him out on patrol if she did a few laps around the city? It was odd she hadn't encountered him on her way in. Usually his unyielding need for control put him front and center to greet any outside heroes that happened to wander to Gotham, but tonight she was certain he hadn't even been following her from the shadows. Not that she'd have noticed, anyway if she was being brutally honest with herself.

She began worrying her lip again. Was he giving her a wide berth after the fiasco in her room at the tower? It had been as embarrassing as it had been intimate.

While listening to the playback in her room, expecting to hear Cassie gush about Conner like a love sick temple maiden, they were shocked to hear the certainly unmistakable noises of Grayson and Starfire nearly consuming each other. At least, that's what it sounded like. Something deep in her chest constricted. The thought of being avoided hurt more than her pride.

A reverberating thud caught her attention off to the right. The maître de, at least Diana assumed from the manner of his dress, had burst through the access door on the right wing of the stage. In a flash, he'd managed to avoid the grasping hands of a suited security guard while simultaneously fixing the poor sentry in a hold of his own. The guard's arm was wrenched up behind his back, his face pressed against the brick wall beside the door by his assailant's forearm.

In an instant the nearest men rushed to encircle, but much to everyone's surprise the maître de released his hold on the hapless help and raised his hands.

"There's absolutely no need for further violence, gentlemen," the man said calmly as he straightened his jacket. Diana watched him closely with an appraising eye. He seemed much too old to be a threat, with his silver hair and warm, disarming smile. If Diana hadn't just witnessed his effortless manhandling of an attacker nearly twice his size, she would have believed him harmless.

With a final tug on his lapels to assure their perfect placement, he produced an ID seemingly from nowhere. "My name is Alfred Pennyworth, personal valet to our mutual employer," the old man said. "I am here to escort Princess Diana to the stage for tonight's official ceremonies."

The man's mellow tone seemed to settle the matter, but the muscles in his face remained taught. He had certainly managed to impose an air of little argument against his wishes. After a quick glance at his ID, the guards parted and let him pass. A few scurried to the aid of their mangled comrade, whether to truly help or to mock, Diana couldn't be sure.

"Ahhh, Princess Diana," the man gushed, "It is truly an honor to make your acquaintance. And my I say you are the very vision of beauty in that dress." He finished with a humble bow. "My name is Alfred Thaddeus Crane Pennyworth," he said with great cheer. Diana couldn't help but compare the more formal introduction against the one he'd given the security detail. "I trust you found the arrangements to your liking?"

Diana extended a hand to his waiting, outstretched palm. "A pleasure to meet you Mr. Pennyworth," Diana said, the warmth in her reply evident.

"Alfred, if you please. And never Mister."

When their fingers touched, his bow deepened as he quickly and politely pressed the back of her hand to his lips. Charmed, almost overwhelmingly so, Diana beamed at him. "The _arrangements_ as you say are lovely, but I feel out of place. There was no need for Mr. Wayne to go through such trouble on my behalf. Especially…" Diana nodded to the security team over Alfred's shoulder.

"Nonsense, my dear! Nonsense!" Alfred replied warmly. "I understand, better than most I'd wager, that Mr. Wayne has a certain reputation regarding such matters. But I would like to go on record that he also takes his guests' satisfaction very seriously. I'm afraid he might have been rather intimidated by your royal station, and wished only to accommodate you accordingly."

Diana lost the will to protest. Alfred's unflappable shrug of her intended rebuke was uncanny. The man's smiling face was just too much for her defenses. She mirrored his jovial mood without thought. "Well, I can't say he hasn't made an impression already. Considerably impressive, I'd say, as I have yet to actually meet him," Diana said through a warm grin.

"In due time, your Highness. At the moment he his entertaining his guests but once this dance- or rather, this song is finished, he will be joining us backstage."

"I'm forced to wait because my date is dancing?" Diana teased. "Without me? Perhaps I spoke to soon about my initial impression of Mr. Wayne."

She had meant to be sarcastic, but found it hard to play up the joke. Suprisingly, that revelation had stung. Apparently the possibility of her teammate avoiding her had made her more emotionally raw than she realized.

Alfred casually turned sideways, encouraging her to access the curtain behind him. "Forgive me my dear, I misspoke. When last I left him he was in the capable hands of the charity director for this evening's event. And I fear that even with a team of wild horses, she would be unable to drag him into a dance. But he _is_ entertaining a guest. A business associate, to be precise. See for yourself."

Diana was apprehensive. She saw a playful glint in his eye. A mischievous smile playing just beneath the surface of his carefully placed apology. Slowly, carefully, she pulled back an edge of the curtain and glanced around the large ballroom. All around the edges of the stage, men and women formed a wall around the dance floor. In its center, she saw a couple dancing. Vigorously. They moved in perfect synchronization and without cues from the excitable music. Every step was a loud clack against the floor, every turn was a public display of seduction.

"Oh dear…" she heard Alfred gasp to himself.

Diana was caught by surprise. Who on earth would dance like that at such a stuffy gala?! No wonder the guests had given them the floor! She quickly scanned the faces of the audience trying to ascertain which would be Bruce Wayne. Every face she searched seemed far too old to be that of the infamous playboy's. It was confusing. Where could that jerk be hiding?

It wasn't like she'd never seen his face before. His smug grin and precious baby blues graced the cover of many a magazine. She guessed she'd seen him at least a hundred times on the cover of magazines or on television. Diana wasn't really all that proud of it, but she was certain she could at least pick him out of a crowd.

Not too long after she had fully immersed herself in man's world, after joining the League full time, she had developed something of short lived infatuation toward the man she saw in the occasional photo. The man with the striking cut of a masculine jawline, and broad shoulders. It didn't take long to dispel her interest. Upon closer examination of the countless photos, she could ascertain all she really needed. He was often filmed beside celebrities or athletic superstars with an ingratiating stoop to his shoulders, obviously intimidated by their size or stature. His fake, practiced smile never quite reached his eyes. No, the man she thought she had seen only existed at a quick glance. Upon closer inspection, Bruce Wayne was hardly an acceptable specimen in Diana's eyes. His reputation as a womanizer was obviously earned through the application of his vast fortune instead of his looks, Diana had decided.

So where was meek and bland man hiding in the crowd?

In a flurry of notes, the music hit a crescendo and faded. The song ended, and the audience erupted into applause. The couple on the dance floor held their pose, tightly clinging to one another in a risqué dip that left the woman's thigh exposed beyond an iota of modesty. Her hands wound tightly in her dance partner's jacket and in the hair behind his head. The dancers were breathing heavily, locked in each other's fierce gaze. Watching them embrace was almost as embarrassing as accidentally overhearing Dick and Kori.

As the applause died down, the two dancers righted themselves and tried to smooth their clothing in a sheepish attempt to maintain decorum. When the man ran a hand through his raven black hair, Diana visibly started. If there was anyone in the room, let alone the whole city, who deserved the title of heartbreaking playboy, it was that face.

She knew it was Wayne instantly and was instantly confused. His finely manicured appearance mingled nicely with his exuding sense of confidence. The sight of him in a bespoke suit and custom shoes left little doubt in her mind to his identity. But the way he filled out his designer clothing with his wide shoulders and broad chest gave her pause. He was definitely much larger in person, and surmising from his graceful movements on the dance floor, obviously less meek. The warm stare of his shockingly blue eyes alone would be distracting to females of a baser instinct, but Diana wasn't ruffled. Flash was never a substitute for substance, in her mind. His impressive build and chiseled features, however, were duly noted nonetheless.

She was an Amazon after all, not a saint.

Diana didn't bother eyeing his dancing partner. She was some nondescript beauty, casually flaunting her obviously purchased _charms_ in an attempt to gain the attention of the richest men in the room. Diana had known her type all too well. She considered them a hindrance in her march toward feminine equality. As long as there were women willing to display themselves like cattle for the sake of landing a 'sugar daddy', women like Diana would forever suffer the consequences.

It made Diana a little upset that a man like Wayne would be bewitched by such an obvious ploy, but then again his reputation as a hopeless womanizer wouldn't preclude him from entertaining such company. Inwardly, she allowed herself to be briefly lost in a sea of conflicting emotions. He sure was pretty to look at, but ultimately she decided he'd be a waste of her time for anything other than a perfunctory official professional relationship. Outwardly, she held a disinterested exterior toward Alfred's prying eyes. She hoped.

"Huh," She stated flatly. "So that's a billionaire?"

Alfred sighed through a pained face. "I admit, he does leave a bit to be desired."

"And that's one hell of a—What did you call her? A business associate? What business would that be, I wonder."

Alfred adopted his firm politeness immediately. Again, unfazed at her intended barb. "Master Wayne entertains all manners of company in the professional world. And, as I'm sure he'll tell you himself, looks can be deceiving."

Unimpressed with Alfred's placating, she stepped away from the curtain to await their host. Every moment she waited for his arrival deepened her growing annoyance. Had he spent his money to dress her up like that woman out there? Did he intend to display her like some trophy he hadn't even earned, for the world to assume the worst? No, this wouldn't stand. She was a proud Amazonian warrior, a daughter of Thermopylae, and a Princess of Themyscira. To lump her in with the likes of that hussy and try to win her affection with meaningless, albeit expensive, material goods was untoward. It was in insult to her station. When this disrespectful Mr. Wayne deigned to finally join them backstage, he was going to get an earful. She was set on it.

"Hey Christian," a baritone voice called warmly from the doorway before elevating in pitch and tone. "What the hell happened to you?"

"Your fucking _butler_ ," came a dour reply.

Diana could see Wayne looking over the injured man off to her right. The injured Christian was trying to work his shoulder back in to place while his friends held the jacket of his suit, and his tie.

"You were instructed," she heard Bruce Wayne lecture, "That no one was to lay a hand on any of the people on the list of names you were provided this morning. Looks like he got you good, eh?" She heard him finish with a chuckle.

She heard Alfred interject immediately, but softly. "I did nothing more extreme than was necessary, Master Wayne. Your hired help attempted to lay hands upon my person without so much as an introduction or otherwise oral warning."

Diana slowly turned her head between the butler and Wayne. At first it seemed he was defending his position, but it almost sounded to her like Alfred was scolding him.

 _Butler my ass,_ Diana thought.

"Master Wayne," Alfred began without missing a beat, "Allow me to introduce Princess Diana of Themyscira."

Wayne was approaching steadily as Alfred made with his introductions. Diana couldn't help but steal another appraising glance at the smooth figure as he made his way forward. Oh, he was a looker, no doubt about it. But she had already made up her mind about what kind of man he was, even if she was wearing his dress. She now hated herself for wearing the one he'd suggested. She picked it because she liked it best, but now she worried it might give the wrong impression.

"Mr. Wayne," Diana said coldly and offered her hand.

Wayne paused a moment before taking it. Obviously unsure of the protocol of the situation. He opted for a firm grasp and quick shake. She returned his grip in kind. If only slightly stronger.

#

Bruce hesitated as he reached for her hand. He wasn't sure how to play this. Diana knew him almost as well as Selina did. He was confident in his ability to keep Catwoman from putting together the pieces, but as he faced Diana in person he began to doubt if he could pull the same trick with Wonder Woman. He'd come this far already, so he took her hand and began his second tango of the evening.

"That's a nice grip you've got there," he laughed flippantly.

The princess remained stoic. "Well, I do crush cars for a living, Mr. Wayne," Diana said with a sneer.

Throwing caution to the wind he dug in his heels and played the sleaze. "Oh have no fear, I for one, can appreciate a strong woman," he said through a toothy grin.

Diana's mouth formed a firm crease. She wasn't buying the charm, and she certainly wasn't impressed.

Alfred, ever to the rescue, took the lead. He seamlessly injected himself between the two and began busying his hands fixing his employer's disheveled appearance. "Forgive me, Princess Diana. I cannot let Master Wayne present himself before the gala in such a state," he said over his shoulder. "He would look something of a dullard standing beside your radiance."

Diana seemed pacified by Alfred's perfect interruption. Bruce noticed her smile finally, for the first time.

" _Nice grip? Might I remind you Princess Diana is the guest you_ ** _actually_** _invited? Drop the act lad, or I fear you may never recover."_ Quickly under his breath, Alfred began whispering instruction.

Bruce's frown was genuine, but he managed to master it toward a display of his dislike at the man's ministrations. From what he could tell, Diana was enjoying his signs of discomfort at being treated like a child on picture day.

"Don't fuss," Alfred said loudly before whispering again. " _Please tell me you have a better plan for the evening than annoying your guest of honor."_

Alfred was right.

Bruce shook his head, and stood to his full height. He was still allowing the night's earlier run in with Selina to dictate his playbook. That wouldn't do. Regardless of the distraction that had been, its ultimate purpose was a collection of intelligence on the world's most elusive thief. Catwoman was an unexpected surprise, but he couldn't let the effects of that surprise linger. After all, Selina Kyle was a distraction to Bruce Wayne, but one he could handle. The much bigger issue of the night, and the sole purpose of the evening to be honest, was dealing with the woman who distracted Batman. Diana demanded nothing less than his full attention, or his troubles would only deepen.

With a final flourish, Alfred straightened Bruce's bowtie and stepped to the side. "There," he said triumphantly, "Forgive me Princess, I am only able to make him presentable enough for diplomats. He'll still look woefully out of place beside royalty, but I'm afraid _some_ things simply cannot be helped."

With that, Bruce saw Diana smile for the second time. A wide, honest grin that brought light to her eyes. Her obvious mirth at his expense gave him encouragement, so he tried a new tactic. One that he'd never relied on before. The truth.

"He's right, you know," Bruce said stepping forward finally. "I'm in over my head here but I thought making a public appearance with a member of the Justice League would send a strong message. Friends in high places and all that." He let out a long breath, the honest confession humbling his features. "But now that you're actually here, I feel like I have no idea what I'm doing."

He watched her reaction closely. She kept her face guarded, but for a single raised eyebrow. It wasn't much, but it was still an opening. He slowly offered her his arm as he turned to face the curtain. He could sense her tense mood, so he tried to put her mind at ease.

"This will be really simple, no need to worry. The orchestra will play us on, and once the curtain goes up it's just a few steps forward to the podium. There will be a few pictures, a few speeches, lots of applause and then we'll be done. If you've prepared a speech, I can introduce you first."

Diana slowly stepped forward, placing her arm through his only to be polite. "Thank you," she said earnestly, if only a little sharply. "I handle most of the speaking engagements for the Justice League of America, I believe I can handle your trust fund brigade."

A sincere laugh resonated deep from Bruce's chest. "Yes, I imagine you can. I just thought you'd feel less anxious with a plan of attack laid out once that curtain goes up."

Whether out of scrutiny or annoyance, he couldn't be sure, her eyes narrowed as he spoke. Bruce feigned a cough through his laughter and turned his head to the side. Flustered momentarily, he attempted the last weapon in his arsenal he knew she had no experience with. Small talk.

"You look nice, by the way," he offered smoothly, not looking over.

"I should hope so," she answered flatly. "Some fool paid a fortune for this outfit."

He laughed again, noting the smile that threatened to break on her lips. "A fool. For you, Princess? Anytime."

He had only a moment to bask in the moment of his coup de grâce, when the band began to play them on and the curtain started to rise. Thunderous applause greeted them as they became the focus of attention on the main stage. He placed his hand over hers and gave it a light squeeze before leading them forward.

Camera flashes by the dozens began captured their every step. Her strappy heels played a staccato beat beside his custom oxfords, as she complimented his every stride with grace and poise. The four seconds it took for them to reach center stage would forever be etched in Bruce's mind. In that moment, he couldn't think of a happier time he'd had playing Bruce Wayne.

They stood at the glass podium with the practiced ease of stardom, letting the press get their fill. After a polite pause, Bruce stepped forward and began addressing his captive audience.

"Ladies and gentlemen… and members of the board," he smiled warmly to the quiet laughter. "Thank you all for coming. I know you're all just dying to hear my rousing speech on the benefits of charity, besides the tax breaks of course." The crowd laughed a little more openly at that. "But let's be honest with ourselves. No one paid ten grand a plate to see me here tonight," he finished by smiling and nodding toward Diana, who gave a royal wave to the cheering crowd. "So please allow me my greatest indulgence of the night, introducing Princess Diana of Themyscira."

With a bright smile and a measured step, Diana took her place at the podium. A hush fell over the crowd as she adjusted the microphone to speak. "Citizens of Gotham, I thank you for welcoming me to your beautiful city. Your generous hospitality has truly touched my heart this evening. Tonight's event is-"

Shattered glass rained down on the gala as every expansive window on the first floor was blown out at once. Chaos erupted instantaneously before anyone could make sense of the scene. Bruce threw himself over Diana, driving them off the stage and in to the recessed orchestra pit as a grenade was bounced on to the stage and gunshots rang through hall.


	7. The Price You Pay

Hey look, another chapter. Author comments below. Enjoy.

#

Heat washed over him as he drove Diana from the stage. It was a welcome sensation. It meant that even though he was slightly late in reacting to the projectile's bounce on the stage, it was only an incendiary round. While dangerous, it was more flash and fire than projectile and shrapnel. It meant they would be ok. He took in all sensory data like a well-trained supercomputer. The heat of the blast. The sound the round made when it bounced. The sudden gasps of the crowd. The echoing gunshots in the ballroom. The awful, panicked screaming of civilians unaccustomed to violence.

In less than a second, he had mentally reconstructed the entire scene without visibly scanning. Not that he could anyway with his face buried in Diana's hair as they fell. He struggled to isolate the pleasant aroma of lilac and rosewater from his nostrils to focus on the panic around them.

At least five armed men had stormed the ballroom from the main entrance. A few had come crashing in from the windows to the west, at least three was his best guess. To the east, an earth shattering explosion blew in the windows from outside, but no assailants entered. A diversionary tactic. Most likely an improvised explosive device planted at street level next door, designed to cause confusion and close street access to first responders from that route. That meant the egress route would most likely run west.

All this he understood from the two seconds of focus he was afforded by diving from the stage. What he couldn't understand, however, was why it was taking longer than two seconds to hit the ground.

When he wrapped Diana in his arms and dove, he turned their bodies so as to put his back to the grenade, keeping himself between her and harm. After the explosion, he continued the roll to ensure a landing with him beneath her to soften the blow. While he certainly felt the heat from the explosion quite acutely, he never felt the impact of the floor.

Opening his eyes, he found Diana's face measuring him with a raised brow. They were suspended in the air, perfectly horizontal and parallel to the floor. They lay together, levitating just beneath the lip of the stage and the orchestra pit, a good 4 feet from the floor.

The idiot had actually pushed her from the stage. She was appalled at this most stupefying chain of events. Owing to the element of surprise, he was able to lift her from her feet. He would have never been able to move her otherwise, he was simply too weak. Diana second guessed that conclusion, however, as she felt his powerful frame press against her as she held them up. He was certainly more powerfully built than she had initially given him credit.

Unforeseen muscle mass or not, the man was still an idiot.

"Are you hurt? Are you injured anywhere?" she asked quietly, calmly. It was the soft, authoritative tone she used when handling civilians with a tendency to be flighty and scream in panic. She began to feel beneath the jacket of his suit for blood or other injuries when his answer was slow to come. She suspected a concussion, but he looked alright otherwise. Had the idiot actually succeeded in shielding her, any shrapnel would have penetrated him twice, passing back into him after reflecting off her impervious skin. His stupid, but admittedly brave act would mean a death sentence if he proved successful. Anything that entered the body did far less damage if it just passed right through. Diana knew it was the smaller caliber bullets that bounced around in a victim that did the most damage.

"I'm fine," he answered with a husk in his voice that hadn't been present earlier in the night. It sent a quiet shiver down Diana's spine. "The guests. I have to…"

Somewhere in the crowd and confusion, a woman screamed.

"Selina."

Diana wasn't entirely sure she heard him right. Even though he seemed focused, she couldn't rule out traumatic brain injury from the initial blast. "I'm going to set you down now, Mr. Wayne. I have to go help," she held her tone of calm and quiet.

He was slow to react, as if he had to translate her words first. "Right. You go help. I'll get… I'll go to my panic room. Do what you can. Help will be here soon." Again his voice was darker than she remembered. His eyes seemed to burn into hers. She placed his feet on the ground, and gave him one final appraisal for injuries. He began to strip out of his still smoking jacket.

She was surprised to see the buttons of his no longer neatly pressed shirt strain against his chest as he pulled the jacket from his shoulders. Yes, he was certainly much larger in stature than she thought at first glance. But other than proving himself to have been misjudged, he didn't show any signs of injury. Without further delay, Diana took flight out of the orchestra pit.

The chaos had already subsided. A crowd circled around a body on the dance floor, a pool of red liquid growing beneath it. No assailants could be found. No menacing attackers were anywhere to be seen. As fast as they had entered, they had left.

Diana alighted next to the prostrate form of the lone victim. She was an elderly woman, dressed nicely in a golden evening dress and a heavy band of pearls around her neck. She was face down, holding her stomach. Blood was pooling beneath her. Diana could see the color draining from the woman's face, and the absence of light in her eyes. She wasn't dying. She was dead.

With inhuman speed and practiced grace, she reached behind her head and grasped the hilt of a sword securely fastened to her back. She twisted her grip and the iron forged by Hephaestus sliced through her gown as she pulled the blade free. The tattered fabric fell around her ankles, revealing her red and blue armor. She kicked off her heels, and set off at blinding speed toward the still smoldering front entrance.

The street outside was a mess. Rubble and dust was still settling, filling the streets. A terrible crash had brought half the building down on the next block over. To her right, she heard screeching tires.

She took to the air and frantically tried to follow the sound of speeding vehicles. It wasn't easy. Gotham had been built over centuries of progress. Its apartments and offices were all at least ten stories high. It made line of sight almost impossible with so many streets crisscrossing at 90 degree angles to each other. Just at the edge of her vision, she could see a large grey vehicle ignoring all traffic laws and turning at each intersection it entered.

She tried her level best to follow it, and managed to gain enough ground to cut off its retreat at the next intersection. She sped across the top of a building, temporarily losing sight of the street in order to gain ground. She then threw herself toward the road after clearing the obstacle in order to fully block the car. Her efforts were in vain.

The large vehicle had pulled in to a parking garage halfway down the road, its tires screeching and straining at the abrupt maneuver. She was torn. Rage and anger demanded she follow the vehicle inside and get her hands on whoever was responsible for the attack, but Athena's wisdom told her it would be wiser to fly overhead and cover each exit from above. She chose wisdom over anger, hoping that exercising caution would be the best way to ensure success. She flew overhead and waited.

Above the city, she could see the smoke and dust from the gala climb into the night sky. Sirens began to form a chorus as they arrived en masse on scene. They were already too late. She was at least ten miles from the scene of the attack, and no one else had been following the fleeing vehicle. She considered calling for backup. She chewed her lip at the thought of Batman learning she was in the middle of some fiasco in his city.

"I'll go in. You stay up here and watch for them to make a run for it," a menacing voice materialized behind her. As if summoned by her thoughts.

She didn't turn her head. Diana just gave a subtle nod and kept her face forward. She didn't want to give Batman the satisfaction of seeing her startled. She was angry for not expecting it. It was his city after all, he'd probably been tailing her all night. No one made it in or out of Gotham without the Dark Knight keeping tabs.

She watched him slink over the rooftop, his cape blending the edges of his shadow into an amorphous mass of darkness. She heard a grappling hook fire, and saw the shadow leap from the building, before hearing a window shatter. With the sounds of glass still falling inside the window, she heard panicked shouts and gunfire.

Diana floated toward the edge she had seen Batman repel down, refusing to put her bare feet down on the rooftop gravel. Before she reached the precipice she heard squealing tires from behind and below. Some of the thugs were trying to make a run for it now that they were trapped with Batman. She wouldn't let that happen, wouldn't let him down.

Pushing off the far ledge of the rooftop with her bare toes, she catapulted herself backwards and behind in a high arcing free fall toward the street below. Her fall took very little adjustment in air, as she allowed gravity to do its work, hurling her toward the ground. Just before impact she tucked herself in to a half turn, and bent her knees beneath her. She slammed both bare feet on to the hood of a car, smashing the engine straight out of the bottom, and crumpling the nose of the vehicle.

Diana put a fist through the windshield and tore the safety glass away in one piece as a shadow passed overhead. Batman landed just beside the now totaled vehicle and began collecting evidence from the tires and frame. A pair of tweezers and several different plastic bags and vials seemingly materialized from nowhere.

"Don't you want to ask our friends here what happened?" Wonder Woman asked with bravado.

" _'Our friends'_ are dead," came the deadpan response.

Diana's eyes bulged from her head. She hadn't caused any undue harm during the abrupt stop. The suspects might have broken noses from the airbags deploying, but nothing more major than that. She frantically reached two hands in the vehicle and ripped out the still inflated airbags blocking the thugs' faces.

"Cyanide. Every field operative of the League of Assassins has a capped tooth with the poison inside. That's why you can't punch them in the jaw if you ever want any information. Not unless you knock the teeth loose in your first blow, anyway. These two probably bit down on the caps when they saw you coming for them," Batman said from somewhere underneath the car.

"I wondered why they didn't try to steer away from me…"

"Most likely dead before you even hit the hood. They're ruthless killers, but absolute cowards. They'd rather die than let anyone catch them in Gotham."

"That's silly," she said flippantly. "What's so scary about Gotham?"

Batman was now standing directly behind her. She hadn't seen him extricate himself from the pile of wreckage, and his gravelly baritone so close behind her head she couldn't help but jump. He answered her question. "I have work to do. You should get back and give your statement to the police."

"You don't want to hear it first?" Diana asked, puzzled.

"No need," he said roughly. "And no time."

He fired a grappling hook Diana hadn't seen him remove from his belt, and vanished in to the night so quickly she couldn't pick out his movements from the surrounding shadows.

Diana Prince let out a breath, she didn't know she was holding.

#

"Wake up, kid! Wake up!" Nightwing shook an unconscious Tim. He was holding an opened smelling salt in his left hand beneath the young Robin's nostrils and not so lightly tapping the boy's cheeks with his right.

His own injuries were crying out for attention, but he ignored them entirely as he tried to get some sign of consciousness from Tim. His shoulder was pulled from its socket when he scooped the limp form of Tim Drake from the flaming cloud of debris in the air. He ground his teeth and suffered through the apex of the swing as it travelled through the hottest part of the explosion. He'd been pretty well singed on his right side, and his left arm was going numb, but they were both alive.

"C'mon you little shit, breathe!" Nightwing begged as he began compressions on Robin's chest with his one functioning arm.

"Language," Tim coughed and rolled over in a fit. He spit and sputtered, unable to clear his lungs.

Dick fell backwards on his heels, ignoring the slight pain in his legs from the strange angle of his body. He noted the pain in his legs as a good omen, marking them still capable of sensation.

"What… the fuck… was that?" Tim coughed and wheezed. Each cough hurt his ribs more than the last, his lungs burning from smoke.

"That... was what happens when you get distracted," Nightwing said through gritted teeth. He popped his dislocated shoulder back in to place with a single rough motion.

"Skip the lecture, Dick-head, I get enough of that back in the cave."

"We weren't the only people focused on Selina," Dick barked back, finally raising to his feet. Robin remained flat on his back, his arms stretched over his head.

"Oracle," Nightwing tapped his ear to activate his comm. piece.

"Corner of 16th Street and Burl. How soon can you make it here?" An unpleasant, deep roar answered. Robin immediately sprang to his feet in a panic, nearly losing his balance in the process.

"Soon. I've got Robin with me," Dick answered his mentor. "We're closer than you'd think."

A double click over the radio was the only response. It was a terse, direct way of acknowledging the message without wasting time in voiced response.

"Thanks, by the way," Tim offered weakly. "Ya know, for not letting me die and all that..." He was trying to stretch out his limbs while stifling a cough. He was apparently still having trouble after the smoke inhalation.

Dick tossed him a nasal cannula and a small canister of compressed oxygen from his belt. "Don't mention it. Take a few breaths of that, and check your gear. I'm glad you're ok, but you're no good to us with broken equipment."

Tim just shook his head. That was it. The asshole moment. Dick Grayson could never go more than 10 minutes without an asshole moment, no matter the circumstances. For a second there, he thought the two had finally come to some kind of understanding. After all, he could have ratted him out. He could have sold him out, and said that Tim had been injured. That he'd need to head back to the cave immediately to recover, while the _original_ Robin teamed up with Bats. Tim was surprised Dick was still going to let him in on the action, but the asshole moment helped put things in perspective. Sure, Nightwing would let him play along, but only if all of his gear would pass the unrealistic expectations of Dick's inspections.

"Wow, that's got to be some kind of record," Nightwing mused.

"What?"

"I've seen it a few times, that look, but that's definitely the fastest it's ever happened. I just saved your life, and now you're looking at me like you hate my guts. Definitely a new record."

Tim crossed his arms, utterly unaware of how petulant the act appeared. "Just took me a second to remember how fucking annoying you are."

"You aren't annoyed with me," Nightwing sighed. "You're annoyed you needed my help. Now let's go get to the bottom of this and meet up with Batman."

Tim didn't say anything while holding his best imitation of the patented Bat Glare.

"Oh, and one bit of _annoying_ advice, you know since I'm already so _annoying_? Don't let him know you saw his dance with Selina. Believe me kid, when Bruce gets involved with women, that's absolutely the right time to shut up and play dumb. Luckily, there's only really two of them that get under his skin. It's just bad luck Selina showed up tonight."

The other was Talia. He didn't need to say it. They both understood.

"You're wrong," Tim's toothy grin returned. He truly relished the moments when he knew more than Dick.

"Oh you've missed so much, Boy Wonder. There's three of them now. You forgot Diana."

#

It was quick work, finding their way to the rooftop at the intersection Bruce had requested. The whole way over, Dick was kicking himself for the poorly handled conversation earlier. Being a mentor just didn't come naturally to him. He wondered how Bruce had managed so easily, and with so many different stubborn personalities. It seemed every time Dick opened his mouth, it was with the wrong words at the wrong time. No matter what he said, Tim just seemed to withdraw and sometimes even visibly bristle.

Nightwing was lost in thought when he saw Robin short line his last swing to gain momentum, propelling him to the roof first. It mattered to him that he reached Batman first, apparently. He was immediately irritated that it bothered him.

 _Kids these days._ Nightwing sighed. _Was I ever this much of a shithead?_ He wracked his brain and came up with more than a few examples from the not so distant past.

"Report," Batman said without turning around. He was watching the police activity below, noting their every action.

"If I had to guess," Robin began slowly. "I'd say Catwoman threw the world's largest hissy fit when she saw you on stage with Wonder Woman." He finished with a grin that split his face from ear to ear. Behind him, he heard a swift smack. Dick's open palm hitting his forehead, no doubt.

Slowly, Batman stood from his crouch. He rose to his full height before turning around, which he did just as slowly. His movements were full of menace. Robin had never actually been intimidated by Batman before, at least not after putting on the uniform. Now, however, he felt the heat of the Dark Knight's gaze bore in to his soul and he felt very, very small.

"A woman died here tonight. A friend of the family," Bruce was looking right through Tim. "You're relieved of duty, effective immediately."

Nightwing crossed his arms for want of something to do. His heart broke for the kid, but he had brought it on himself. Dick warned him, after all.

"Cave. Now," Batman ordered. "Don't leave for home until you've had Alfred take a look at those ribs. Dismissed."

To his credit, he didn't hang his head. He didn't pout. He didn't huff and sigh. Robin just sharply turned on his heels and headed off in to the night.

"Harsh," Dick waited until Robin had leapt from the roof before speaking. "But fair enough I guess. He _was_ pretty beat up."

"What happened?" Bruce asked, much softer now. He allowed concern to enter his voice now that Tim couldn't hear it.

"That building that got the demo treatment? We were on top of it. Well, to be more precise, we were already swinging from it when it went up. The shockwave alone caught us pretty good. The debris did less damage than the fire did, but it was a close one. Tim passed out."

"And you dislocated your shoulder," Batman added. "No doubt catching him before passing through the fire."

"World's greatest detective," Nightwing confirmed. "What happened in there? We saw the SUV take off from the front entrance, but we never saw who was driving or how many were involved."

"It was the League," Batman said, his voice unpleasant. "Used every diversionary tactic in the book, including murdering Gene…"

"Kingston?! Aunt K?" Nightwing jumped.

"…and took Selina. It was a smash and grab, she was the sole target. Gene no doubt stepped in their way. And it's my fault," Bruce said after a moment of silence.

Dick burst into action. "I got a look at the plates before we blew up. I'm sure they ditched it by now, but I can start a trace, see just what kind of front they're using this time. I know for a fact they moved in to one of the loading bays at the south docks at the Bludhaven wharf."

Bruce held up a hand to slow him down. "Smashed. Diana kicked its engine through the street and into the subway."

"Did she manage to knock their teeth out first?" Dick asked, hopefully.

Bruce shook his head once. Nightwing grimaced and brought a hand to his face. "So what's the play?"

"I'm going to head to the cave. I found some interesting erosion patterns on the underside of the getaway vehicle, and a few pieces of trace evidence. I'm going to run an analysis but it's going to take time, and they already have a head start on me. Dick, I need your help."

Nightwing's throat constricted. Bruce had asked for assistance plenty of times before, the two had a close relationship. It was the desperation in his voice, the pleading note of despair that Dick Grayson had never really heard before. It hurt his chest to see Bruce so wounded.

 _Selina_ , he thought. _He's worried they'll hurt Selina._

He replied the only way he knew how. The only way Bruce had ever shown him, as a man, with actions rather than words. Swiftly, he extended his hand to Bruce who at once gripped it and placed a hand on his shoulder. No other words were said.

Soon after, two shadows left the rooftop from different corners. One headed south, toward Gotham proper, the other off toward Bludhaven. At least, that's only what the best educated guesser could surmise. Each shadow immediately lost its shape and form to the blackness of the surrounding night once it took flight.

#

I just wanted to take a second here and say thanks to everyone reading. And a very special thank you to everyone who added this to their favorites/follows and commenting. It can really brighten a day to see I have a new reader. Your feedback has inspired me to take this more seriously. I'm going to write more frequently than before, on this and my original works. Thanks everyone!


	8. To Kill a Robin

OK, so this new post comes with a hefty bit of replaced/edited chapters. I hadn't really gone back and read them after posting on the site. I was completely unaware that my formatting wasn't coming through. I think I've fixed it for now. Here's a new chapter to reward your patience!

#

Ten Months Earlier

#

It was the worst ass chewing Bruce had ever given Dick Grayson. Only on one other occasion had he fought with his mentor so seriously, and it made him so mad he changed his costume. He kept the mantle of Robin, but opted for a new black and red motif that could not be reconciled with any previous iteration of his other uniforms. It was a fresh start, it made him a new man. More importantly, it was a message that Batman read all too clear. Though he was a member of Bruce's team, he was his own man.

This particular fight was made infinitely worse by the presence of Roy Harper. It didn't matter that Speedy was party to his own dressing down from Green Arrow, Robin hated having an audience. He'd never been outright challenged by Batman before, and that all changed today. He knew he messed up. They both knew it, Robin and Speedy. But like the old adage goes, the disappointment their mentors expressed was more painful to endure than their anger. If only slightly.

Batman and Green Arrow were waiting for them when they arrived. Not a word was said as Robin and Speedy promptly took their seats in the conference room. Before their cheeks hit the seats, Batman began a video playback on the wall behind the table. Green Arrow just began shaking his head. When the young men recognized the scene playing back, they knew immediately they were in for hell.

In the projection playing on the entire wall, a loading dock on a massive industrial wharf could be seen. Two large gantry cranes were moving shipping containers from a freighter in tandem. From the camera's unique angle above and behind the cranes, the whole wharf could be seen. Noiselessly, as the video had no audio playback, the busy workers below the cranes worked to unload various other crates and pallets into larger containers. As they were filled, other heavy machinery was used to lift those containers on to trucks, which then pulled out from the docks. It was a mundane night shift on the Bludhaven wharf. It was also the prelude to the worst night of Dick and Roy's professional lives.

The video was sped forward several hours, before Batman pressed another button on his wrist, slowing time back to normal. A black shadow could be seen swinging on to one of the tops of the cranes. It didn't linger long, owing to the precarious position of the machinery, and that crane operators often watched their line work closely while actively lifting. When the shadow rested briefly at the top of the framework of the machine, Batman pressed another button and the projection zoomed out. The camera was positioned behind and above Speedy's shoulder, by maybe eight feet or so.

Roy groaned.

Batman had placed a timelapse camera overlooking the wharf well before either of the two youths had even considered dropping by to take a closer look for themselves. That wasn't embarrassingly in itself. Batman was often several steps ahead of both the Justice League and the Titans when it came down to the basic legwork of investigations. But because neither of them found his cameras, the mistakes they made that night were immortalized on film for their respective mentors to play back at their leisure. Robin didn't have to take a vote to know Roy felt the same way he did. They both would have rather forgotten that night entirely.

The projection now showed the shadow less distinctly in the distance, but still in frame, as it leapt from the height of the crane above. It was evident the movement had caught Roy's attention, his head turned and tracked the motion all the way to the top of a building across from him. His head tilted slightly in confusion as he watched the shadow glide over the roof before slipping in to a window on the side of the building. He was seen pulling his wrist up, to activate his communicator no doubt, but a terrible crash below caused him to freeze. The video of course was silent, but Speedy's sudden start and crouch indicated the occurrence of a loud commotion.

The camera showed one of the freight trucks overturned on the pathway out of the docks. The overloaded trailer it was pulling had completely toppled over, the containers bounced and burst open in a terrible din of crashing steel and debris Robin remembered. But the playback remained silent. Immediately following the crash, several people were seen emerging from the warehouse that the shadow had just slipped inside. Batman paused the video once more, and zoomed in on their faces. Two men flanked a woman with a wild mane of black hair.

Roy groaned again.

Robin raised a brow at the image on the wall, and turned to look at Speedy, who was doing his best to slide under the table. "What…?" Robin began.

"Not another word," Batman growled. He began the playback again.

The camera caught Speedy's reaction to seeing the people scurrying below. In the noise of the crash, he'd instantly snatched and knocked an arrow, unsure of what was to come. But the video showed that when he saw the people below, when he recognized the woman, he lowered his bow and replaced the arrow in his quiver. He sat motionless for a while, watching them shout orders and direct recovery efforts around the fallen containers. When the overseers went back inside the warehouse, he sprang in to action.

He fired an arrow toward the far wall of the warehouse. It was attached to a line which he'd anchored to the wall behind him. He had literally turned to face the camera, his whole head in frame a mere 6 inches from the lens, as he anchored the zipline.

His shot was commendable. It struck the warehouse in an unprotected layer of brick barely visible beneath the eaves of the roof and directly over a window. With a quick tug of the line to set the opposing anchors, he took off at a sprint. In mid stride, snagged the line with his bow and zipped over. When he neared his destination, he dropped from the line and tucked his legs. Like an arrow from his own quiver, he darted into the window just beneath the line, without touching the frame.

This time, Dick and Roy groaned in unison.

Batman paused the playback. Green Arrow shook his head. Speedy turned red enough to match the color of his uniform. Even though what followed inside the warehouse wasn't caught on film, it was obvious their mentors knew exactly what happened.

When Roy darted through the window, he crashed directly into Robin. A fight broke out immediately, owing to rushing adrenaline and reflexes. Robin, with his back to the window, was standing over a desk taking pictures of shipping manifests. He was preparing to turn and leave when Speedy drove two feet square into his lower back. They tumbled together over the desk, fighting and scuffling in the darkness. It wasn't until they reached a stalemate in the grapple that they recognized each other, but it was too late.

Batman began the playback again, flashing lights and alarms were blanketing the entire shipyard. In their brief scuffle, Robin and Speedy had managed to trigger a multitude of alarms and alerted everyone to their presence. In the immediately ensuing panic, the two could be seen diving from the side window Robin had entered earlier. The two made a desperate dive for the river water in escape, just barely avoiding detection.

Batman paused the video when the splashes faded. The lights slowly came back up, and the temperature in the conference room dropped at least 10 degrees.

"Anything to say for yourself?" Green Arrow barked.

Roy sprang to his feet and squared off with his mentor immediately. "Oh no, you don't get to take the high road on this one old man!"

Robin began slowly pushing his chair back with his toes to give the two a wide berth.

"I was there to clean up _your_ mess because you were too stubborn to see what was right in front of you," Speedy continued, his cheeks flushed.

Robin knew this had been a long time coming. Speedy had been running down a case involving adolescent drug mules, and all signs pointed toward the docks as the point of entry for both the narcotics and the children used as slave labor. He didn't exactly have anything solid, but Robin knew Roy had taken his suspicions to Green Arrow directly. Whatever the result of that meeting was, Speedy wasn't happy with the outcome and apparently decided to go rogue.

"You hot headed… Of all the…" Ollie cursed the ceiling a moment. "We've been watching them for months. Months! And aside from a continued habit of overworking their longshoremen, that particular outfit was committing no crime."

"But they were armed, you saw the patrols in the footage!"

"Again," Green Arrow crossed his arms, "Not a crime."

"Bullshit. That's complete and utter bullshit. You wouldn't have them under surveillance if they weren't up to something! I wouldn't have bothered going in if it…"

"That's our business," Bruce interjected with his usual rough tone. It amused Dick to no end that neither Speedy nor Green Arrow were paying him any attention.

"Don't you do it," Ollie threatened. He was straining the arms crossed over his chest to keep from flailing or possibly snatching Roy by the collar. "Don't you _dare_ try to tell me that you went in there for any other reason than you saw _her_."

"Who?" Robin asked once he'd pushed himself to what he considered a safe distance.

"Jade Nguyen," Bruce answered flatly, since he knew Robin was the only member of his audience.

"That was Cheshire!?" Dick regretted the outburst almost immediately. He was digging his own hole deeper by acknowledging he had no idea she was present during his unsanctioned infiltration. It was an admission that he'd gone in blind, without back up, and without knowing all the players. Cold dread washed over his face and down his spine. "Oh shit…" he mumbled to himself.

Ollie and Roy had been reduced to cold stares. Neither offered anything further.

"I want to make sure I fully understand exactly what the video shows me, so please correct me if I misunderstand anything," Batman began slowly, finally taking control of the conversation. Robin and Speedy paled. They knew the world's greatest detective would need no correcting.

"You," Bruce pointed to Dick, "Undertook a reconnaissance mission without backup, without so much as an entry in the League log. You risked your life, and a successful conviction, out of impatience. Showing an utter disregard for due process, and a total lack of faith in your teammates."

They way Batman said 'your team' let Robin know he wasn't just referring to the Titans.

"And you," Green Arrow picked up the tirade, pointing at Speedy. "Went to the one place I expressly forbid you to enter, where you promptly lost all discipline the moment you saw your girlfriend."

"Do we have the gist of it?" Batman wasn't asking.

"Don't make this about her," Roy snapped. "She had nothing to do with it."

Robin sympathized with Roy's fury. He had been on that same thin ice several times before. Bruce never shied away from blaming Dick's "flame of the month", as he called it, for his lapses in training or mistakes on patrol. The whole argument was hypocritical. Like Bruce was never compromised wherever Talia was concerned? Like Green Arrow didn't become a liability whenever Dinah went dark on missions?

Dick chewed his lip to keep from interjecting. While he thought their arguments were bullshit, he had the good sense to know it was a losing battle.

"Cheshire's involvement doesn't matter to me, at least not anymore," Batman interrupted. "Because you two completely derailed an ongoing League investigation and now some of the players involved won't even face arrest, as they've gone to ground. What does matter to me, and to the entire League, is that for whatever personal reasons you two had, you completely ruined an eight month investigation. With absolutely nothing to show for your efforts."

"Nothing to show?" Robin jumped from his seat, and in to the fray. "The pictures of the shipping manifests I took give the League all the evidence it needs to bring down that entire company. Whatever was delivered in those containers was innocent enough, sure. But those ships were being loaded with weapons grade plutonium before they left for parts unknown. The documentation I photographed shows it in black and white!"

Very seldom did The Dark Knight ever show emotion when working on official League business, but now Bruce was pinching the bridge of his cowl in an all too humanizing way. No one could make him break character quite like Dick could.

If Roy didn't know any better, it looked as if Robin had just made Batman take a breather and count to ten. On that front, he swelled with pride. No one on his team got under his skin quite like Robin could, and it looked like Batman struggled with the asshole too sometimes. He found himself torn between reveling in the kinship with Batman, and proud of his comrade in arms for vexing him so acutely.

In the five seconds of downtime he'd given himself by distracting Bruce with a headache, Dick managed to put it all together. He felt like the floor was about to give way beneath his feet, and he fell into the seat behind him.

"It was yours. The manifests. It was bait... that I swallowed," Robin choked. "That's why Cheshire showed up. You weren't after the shipment. You were after whoever was going to make a move to steal it." He finished with a palm over his eyes in disgust.

"Wait, what?!" Speedy spat.

Robin dropped his chin to his chest. "It was fake. The whole thing. The trafficking, the drugs, all of it. It was all a ruse to get the larger players to make a move. It was a trail of breadcrumbs to get some larger players to make a move on the fake outfit."

Speedy sucked in air through his teeth before dropping his head like Dick.

"It was so obvious…" Robin whispered. "I didn't…"

"You didn't figure it out, because you didn't take a single second to think it over," Ollie sighed. "And that's why we're so disappointed."

"Had you shared your suspicions with your team, talked through the problem as you did just now, you would have put it all together," Bruce scolded him like a toddler, not out of a place of anger but of tutelage. "You wouldn't have gone off halfcocked, and you wouldn't have wasted my time."

Dick could hear it all in his voice. The pride of hearing him put together the ruse. The shame of Dick's failure as his own. The slight hint of mirth that Roy had ranted and raved to anyone who would listen, but still hadn't managed to figure it out. No matter the setting, Bruce had always held Dick to a higher standard. Today, he was showing not only Dick but Ollie and Roy as well, that he had failed to meet the standard.

"We agreed," Ollie lectured. "To let you join this team because we felt it was in your best interests. That it would help you grow. That through teamwork, your blind spots would be covered and you would improve. That it would make you better, better than us when you were ready."

"But at the docks," Batman continued. "You showed us you've been using your teammates as a crutch. You showed us you don't trust your team. You don't trust each other. And you don't trust us."

"No… Don't-" Robin said meekly.

"Clear your things out of the Titans' Tower. As of this morning your credentials to the Watchtower have been revoked," Green Arrow bit his way through every word. The punishment hurt him as much as it did the young men.

With a flat, resonating note Batman closed the door on them, "You're dismissed."

#

Cassie and Conner lay in a sweaty, gasping heap on the couch. The common room of Tower looked like a bomb had gone off. A coffee table was broken between the couch and the TV. There were two parallel burn marks on the ceiling, which drew lackadaisical swirling patterns and were still smoking. The loveseat in the corner had been bisected evenly down a lateral split through the fabric and wood. Almost every lamp and book had been knocked free from various upended end tables and shelves.

What began in jest in the kitchen with Cassie teasing Conner about having the Tower to themselves while cooking breakfast ended in earnest in the common room with reckless abandon.

Cassie was still laying on Conner's chest, lazily drawing her fingers up and down his arm. She didn't dare move. They hadn't been alone for so long, she wanted to savor every passing second. A nagging voice of reason in the back of her mind told her that soon they'd need to dress and begin cleaning up the damage they caused before anyone returned. She ignored reason with the practiced zeal of a twenty-something in love.

Conner wrapped his arms around her, enjoying the feel of her firm curves against his body before adjusting his position to make room beside him. She pressed herself against him tightly as he rolled, jealously maintaining contact with as much of him as possible. Once finally positioned, she began to bask in the afterglow as they spooned.

When Conner blew her hair from his eyes to survey the damages, his heat vision almost involuntarily triggered once again. They had done a number on the room, and no amount of tidying was going to dispel the evidence.

Cassie felt his torso stiffen in surprise and giggled softly. "Yeah… We might have got a little… carried away."

Conner groaned and buried his face in her hair. "You're a bad influence on me."

"Shut up," she swatted his arm. "You like it."

He squeezed her tightly in response. "I love it," he corrected. "But duty calls. We have to clean this impact site before anyone comes back."

He tried to lift himself from the couch, but Cassie drew his arms closer around herself in protest. "Will you relax already? The team's not scheduled to meet back for another two weeks. We have all the time in the world to clean up. In fact," she pressed her backside against him, "I think we can afford to make it a little worse before we bother cleaning anything."

"But what if someone comes back early? What if someone from The League drops by to check in?" He asked between soft kisses to her shoulder and neck. He protested weakly, savoring the scent of her hair.

"Then they'll learn the importance of knocking," she said, craning her neck to capture his lips with her own. "I have you all to myself, Superboy. You've fallen right into my clutches. You can scream for all the help you want, but no one is going to save you now."

Despite his misgivings, he knew she was right. For all intents and purposes, they were going to be alone together for some time yet. The team was on something of an unofficial hiatus. Raven had taken a sabbatical, to center herself and focus her mind she had said. Where she got off to, no one was really sure, but The League assured them all she was in good hands. Wally had been staying at the Tower less and less as of late in order to really push through his sophomore year in college. He stayed on the active roster, but had officially moved out nearly a week ago. Starfire had taken another modeling contract and her photo shoot in Brazil wasn't due to wrap up for another month at least. Conner was thankful for the peace and quiet after her departure.

Before Starfire left, there had been a massive blowout in the team. Oblivious to all matters that weren't directly related to Cassie or Superman, Conner wasn't sure what had caused the row. All he was certain of was that somehow Speedy, Robin, and Starfire had more tension between them all than Batman and Princess Diana did. And that was saying something. There wasn't a lot of talk about it afterwards, Conner had been at a loss as to how to bridge the gap. He considered Robin his closest friend on the team, but he was woefully lacking in the department of advice on women.

Cassie rolled them off the couch, landing on top of him with a wicked grin. She grasped the wrists on her hips tightly, before pinning them near his head. "Your teammates have all abandoned you, here alone in my grip," she said with her best imitation of dark laughter.

Conner raised a questioning brow.

"What? Evil monologue not doing it for you?" She stole a kiss from his lips quickly, not allowing him to react or speak. "Fine, I suppose we can do things your way…"

Her hair cascaded around his face as they began to consume each other with renewed vigor. He placed a hand on the small of her arched back, placing the other on her cheek. She began to utter soft moans as she ground her hips against him.

There was a swell of breeze from the direction of the balcony. Another location the couple had availed themselves the use of, and in their fever forgotten the door. The air swirled and crackled with energy as several discarded items of clothing were tossed around in the subsiding jet wash.

"Hey everyone I brought a- ohmygodyou'renaked."

As the two lovers had fallen from the couch, a speedster was making his casual, barely subsonic way to the common room of the Tower. He was in such a hurry, that he didn't bother using the front door or garage entrance but chose instead to run up the side of the building vertically. Entering through the balcony, he darted down the hall and in to the common area to surprise his teammates with a cake and party favors.

35 minutes ago in Central City, which was an hour away, Wally West had spied Starfire passing overhead. Knowing there was only one place on Earth she could be heading, he gathered supplies and ran to stage a surprise party for her return. He had hoped the gesture would help the team heal, and possibly bridge the ever growing gap between his best friends. The cause of the gap was an altogether mystery, but he didn't care. Robin was certainly going to owe him big for masterminding the party, and the team would all be one big happy family again. Or so he had hoped.

Instead of finding his teammates bored, lazing about the room on a boring football Sunday, he found what appeared to be a disaster area. And only two teammates. Two naked teammates, to be exact.

Before Cassie could issue a panicked squeak, Wally had dropped the cake he was carrying, caught the dropped cake, placed it on the counter in the kitchen and bolted outside. The two utterly surprised team members saw nothing but a red and yellow blur. The words, "SorrySorrySorry" echoed as it passed.

Cassie dropped her forehead onto Conner's chest and sighed. "Why," she huffed, "Why, oh why, do you always have to be right?"

#

Wally had never been more wrong in his entire life. Ever. 20 minutes ago he was convinced he was going to be the hero this team needed in order to heal. As he stood on the balcony listening to Robin and Speedy scream at each other from inside, he wasn't sure there was enough cake in all the world to mend those fences.

He was joined on the terrace by Conner and Cassie, their embarrassment fled the moment they heard the approaching shouting match from downstairs. Robin and Speedy had been at each other's throats since the moment they pulled in to the garage. They could be heard swearing and yelling as they made their way up from below. Choosing to give the hotheads space, the two previously morbidly embarrassed lovers joined their interrupter for some fresh air.

They dressed quickly, each throwing on a pair of jeans and a shirt. There was some initial drawback to their initial haste, as they were unable to locate the shirts they'd been wearing earlier. Conner was able to find his standard black tee, but Cassie had to select a new top. Her previous one having been reduced to rags. Once she was finally dressed, she joined them on the balcony. Her hair was just as disheveled as it had been earlier.

Wally struggled to find the right words. This was easily the most awkward situation he'd ever faced in his entire history as a Titan. Cassie saw him searching to speak, and held up a hand.

"Just don't," she said. "You're sorry. I'm sorry. You're embarrassed. I'm mortified. But we have bigger problems at the moment."

She leaned with her back on the railing, and watched the yelling inside. Through the sliding glass doors they were like some weird zoo exhibit on aggression. Conner and Wally said nothing, but blossomed the same shade of red.

Robin was shouting about priorities. Speedy about trust, and loyalty. Each was beginning to grow hoarse with rage.

"We need to put a stop to this," Conner finally spoke. He was mesmerized by the spectacle behind the glass.

"Nah, let 'em fight. This was a long time coming," Wally shrugged. "Sometimes things have to get worse before they get better."

"No, Conner's right. This is only going to get uglier once Starfire makes it back," Cassie said. "If we're going to stop them from going to blows, we need to cool them off before she gets here."

#

Dick saw his three teammates enter from the balcony behind Speedy's shoulder, but utterly ignored them. He was seeing red, and couldn't keep any of his emotions in check. They were unnecessary distractions at the moment, his mind being fully occupied with Roy's movements. Soon, very soon, any one of the archer's erratic, threatening motions would force Robin to neutralize a threat. He waited, focused, and hoped for the chance to wipe the grin off that asshole's face.

"You just don't fucking care about any of us," Roy was shouting. Behind him Cassie was yelling something as well but Dick couldn't make it out. It was static to be filtered out, his anger and rage demanded focus.

Though his anger boiled and seethed, he chose a page from Bruce's playbook and used an utterly calm tone to display his menace. He had given in earlier, and allowed his emotions to run rampant as he fought doggedly for hours. But now he was past the idle shouting. He was beyond the threats. They would either come to terms with each other, or throw hands. The time for shouting was over. He now began to relish the growing chance for violence.

"Why do you have bags?" Wally stepped in. His eyes bulged. "What's going on here?"

Speedy whirled on everyone, the fury in his eyes made all present aware of how dire the situation had become.

"We've been thrown out. Because I'm too stubborn, and that piece of shit is too proud to… It doesn't matter. We're done here. I'm done here," Roy shouted. His lips were flecked with spittle. "The infallible Boy Wonder doesn't trust any of you, any of us. And now he's taken me down with him."

"You did this yourself, Roy. I made a mistake. But you let a pair of fishnets and a short kimono cloud your judgement," Robin bit back.

Roy spun to face him once again, shaking in anger. "And you're one to fucking talk. You broke this team up because Star wasn't enough for you. You had to have Zatanna and Huntress and…"

Conner stepped forward, raising his hands for peace. "Now let's just all calm down a bit here and-"

"Can it boy scout," Speedy fumed. "I'm sick of you coming to the little twerp's rescue. Every time he bites off more than he can chew, you leap to his rescue but you don't fucking get it. He uses you like some hired thug. The muscle to bail him out of a scape whenever his brain gets him in too deep."

"Not only is that not true, that's really uncalled for," Wally piped in.

"Take your shot then, asshole," Robin cut him off. "Go on, grab your bow. Nock an arrow. I'll wait."

For a moment nobody moved. Roy measured him with a haughty glance. "You'd like that, wouldn't you? Go crying to Starfire for sympathy? For once, I'm a step ahead of your bullshit Rob. You'd let me pin you to a wall just so that your pet super clone can pound me flat, and you can cry to Starfire. So you can convince her that what we have isn't real. That I'm really just a piece of shit."

"Is anyone else confused as fuck right now?" Wally raised a hand.

Conner didn't take his eyes off the two squared off in front of him, but he told Wally of the events of the last few months in a quiet whisper. He told him how Roy had become infatuated with Starfire after Robin left. How every time Robin was gone for more than a few days, Roy and Starfire were inseparable. How Roy had confessed his love to Starfire the last time Robin left with Batman to parts unknown.

Wally slapped a hand over his face. "But I thought he and Cheshire were…"

"Hey I don't get it either," Cassie said. "But that's how it went down. How Rob knows about it…. I have no idea." Her eyes narrowed.

"Have I really been gone that long? That Starfire and Speedy were… are…" Wally struggled.

"No," Cassie cut him off. "Cheshire, for whatever reason, cut all contact with Roy some time ago. He rebounded hard on Starfire, who can be too friendly for her own good sometimes. I warned her that this would happen but I never thought it would come to this in a million years."

"Alright, alright. Let's all just calm down here. Everyone's mad, but we can't solve anything in anger we have to-"

"Let him have his say, Conner," Robin crossed his arms. "Let's hear it all out now. I'm tired of everyone keeping secrets."

"What secrets?" A quiet, nervous voice asked from behind the spectators. "I heard shouting…" Starfire said softly.

The air was sucked out of the room. A silence fell over the Tower born of anger and shame.

"Robin, Roy… What are those bags? What is going on?" She sounded scared. It hurt Dick's chest. Of all people, he absolutely didn't want her present for this.

He was leaving in disgrace. To his shame, he couldn't make things right with her before he had finally screwed up enough to get kicked off the team. Now she would be here to see his unceremonious exit, to see the punishment for his failure as a leader and a teammate.

She was a vision of beauty as always, standing next to Cassie in a pair of jeans and a button down cotton t-shirt. She had tied the bottom of the shirt above her navel. In an instant, the mystery and drama concerning her supposed love triangle was dispelled. All parties present recognized the top as belonging to Robin.

Roy broke the silence, quietly and softly at first, but soon he couldn't contain his riotous laughter.

"As always, you have perfect timing, Star," Speedy wiped a tear from his eye. "And you prove my point."

"What?" her voice was soft, confused.

"Leave her out of this, Roy" Dick threatened. There was a venom in his voice, a promise of violence that shocked everyone present. Even Conner took a step back.

"Perfect!" Roy shouted. "Roy. It's always Roy. Or Conner. Or Cassie. Or Wally. Or even Kori! Never Speedy. Never Superboy or Wonder Girl. You have no problem, using our names. You have no trouble at all exploiting the level of trust we've given you by telling you who we really are. But I wonder, what does Kori call you? What does Starfire, the love of your life, she whom you trust above all of us here on the team, call you? She calls you Robin. Just like the rest of us. Just like the strangers we save, or the enemies we fight."

Nothing was said for a long time. The truth pierced Dick Grayson more precisely than any arrow in Roy's quiver could have ever managed. He knew them all. He knew the identities of every member of the team, well before they shared it with him. But it didn't matter, in the end they had all willingly shared that information with him. Guilt swallowed his insides.

Roy began to take off his costume, pulling his hands free of his gloves and dropping his bow. He pulled his uniform off until he was left in an undershirt, black leggings and a mask. "You can change your costume as many times as you want," he said as he pulled on a pair of jeans. "You can change your colors from green and yellow, to black and red, hell even purple and pink if you want. But to us, you'll always be Robin. Just Robin. Nothing more. And no one else."

He fished a pair of boots out of one of his bags and tugged them on his feet. Satisfied they were secured, he reached a hand up. "But me?" He said as he pulled the mask from his face. "I'm Roy Harper, and Speedy is dead."

He let the mask slip from his fingers and flutter to the floor.

No one spoke as he picked up his duffle bag and walked out. They watched his back as it retreated through the door, and down the hall. They heard his footsteps echo on his way to the garage. But they didn't hear his motorcycle start. They didn't hear the garage door open. He had left the cycle behind, just as he had his bow, costume and arrows. All eyes were on the discarded uniform on the floor for a long, painful moment.

When the first among them finally looked up, Robin had gone. As if he had never been present at all.

##

This one is a bit longer than other updates. There was a lot I needed to fit in, and a lot of characters needed to have their say. As always, thanks for reading. Looking forward to your questions/reviews on this one.


	9. When It Rains

###

AUTHOR'S NOTE: The latest update has triggered a landslide of edits to previously posted chapters. I promise, no content is being added or removed. I'm merely correcting errors that slipped through the cracks in my hurry to post.

#

In his years spent as Batman, Bruce was never prone to panic. He'd been brutally beaten, stabbed, shot and had his spine snapped cleanly in two. None of those moments caused the level panic he was succumbing to in this moment.

Four days had passed since Gene Kingston's murder and Selina's abduction. In four days he learned absolutely nothing from the evidence left behind at the crime scene or from interviews with witnesses. He needed help, so he reached out to his digital heavy hitter, Oracle.

And then he panicked.

Barbara was nowhere to be found. After sending Tim to check in with her, and then hearing his unsettling report, he chose to see the place for himself. It rocked him to his very core. The place was stripped down to the boards. The false walls used to hide her server farm were gone, along with every other modification made to the place to make her digital palace a reality. It was no longer Oracle's cyber enhanced domain, just a simple high end condo with a lovely view of the city. It was as if Barbara had never lived in it at all.

Bruce spent a total of two hours combing the place from top to bottom. The only bits of trace evidence he found were a few hairs, belonging to Tim. It was easy enough to place them. In his mind, he could see where Tim literally put his ear to the ground at the spot he knew to be a false floor. But just as Bruce had discovered when he knocked on the panel, it was now sealed and solid.

Satisfied no information would be gleaned from the bare space, he flew into action. In mere seconds he crossed the distance from the 17th floor to the street below, where he threw himself into the backseat of a waiting Porsche Panamera. Smashing a few buttons hidden on the roof, he began to change as the car roared to life and sped away. Its silver paint gave way to a matte black coating before it rounded the first turn.

Once fully changed, he felt more in control, but a rising sense of dread began to take hold of his chest.

"This is Batman on comm-two. All ears on this channel, report," Bruce barked into the omnidirectional mic in the center console of the luxury sedan. He was using the general line monitored by nearly half of the Justice League, instead of his own frequencies.

"Nightwing, on. Lima Charlie," Dick answered using the NATO phonetic alphabet for loud and clear.

"GL, receiving."

"Flash, here."

"Robin, on."

"Tower Center, we read you," replied the calm voice of J'onn J'onzz. His reply eliminated the need for all others on the frequency to respond.

The driverless Panamera began heading for the tunnel out of the city, its tires squealed in protest as it aggressively navigated the streets. Bruce was forced to brace himself several times to prevent from being slammed into the sides while donning the last of his gear.

"I'm enacting Contingency Protocol CP dash two. I repeat, Charlie Papa dash two. Authorization Whiskey Mike. I'm currently headed to the front gates of the Watchtower. I will contact you in twenty-two hours. Batman, out."

The message transmitted to all, though only Tim and Dick would be able to make heads or tails of it. He had just ordered them to go to ground, immediately. No packing, no goodbyes allowed. Their mandate was to grab a bugout bag, and get out.

With another screech of tires, the Porsche entered the northbound tunnel out of Gotham. After waiting a few moments to gain distance from the natural lighting of the entrance, Bruce pressed a button on the dashboard and the tunnel was plunged into total darkness. Bruce was thankful for the first time in his life for the gridlocked traffic inside the tube this time of day. At least he wouldn't cause any accidents in making his escape.

It was short work stealing his way along the rooftops over to the main entrance of the Watchtower. He was thankful to see no security personnel out front, they would have only slowed him down. Instead of a security detail, he saw a large imposing figure in blue and red. He glided to the front gate where a concerned Superman was waiting, arms crossed.

Clark had a nervous tick whenever he was concerned or anxious. Usually when in public he held an unreal, floating dancer's posture. It showed grace, poise and power. Everything Superman stood for, essentially. But when he was nervous, like he was now, he stood so flat footed he'd have a hard time making it through military medical screening for the Army. It made him look like a scared Boy Scout from Kansas instead of the usual hulking paragon of strength and power.

"How can I help?" Clark asked quickly, shaking Bruce's hand and grasping his shoulder.

Bruce didn't allow himself to be slowed by the contact and dragged Clark with him through the gates, toward the teleporters inside. "I need access to The Womb, and I need the cameras inside off. As quickly as you can make it happen."

"I'm not going to like this, am I?" Clark was always uneasy whenever Batman used The Womb to its full potential. Ever the fighter for the American spirit, Superman hated the idea of anyone's privacy being breached without due process. The question was his own way of asking Bruce to assure him he was doing the right thing, without actually having to voice a protest.

Bruce obliged.

"Oracle has been compromised. It's reasonable to believe that any information she has access to currently is also compromised. That includes anything I enter from my own terminals in the Cave," Bruce answered without slowing his pace. "And no, you aren't going to like what I need to do."

Clark sighed and shook his head, "At least this time you asked."

Clark continued to trot along behind Bruce's hurried pace in silence as he processed the situation. Completely unaware he could fly and keep up easily.

They parted briefly to take their places on the teleportation pads in silence. The conversation held a pregnant pause as the gravity of the situation began to dawn on Clark. The two were transported immediately once they took their places. J'onn had disabled the usual countdown, Bruce noticed. Clark noticed its absence as well. It only made him more concerned. Once aboard the Watchtower, he resumed their hurried pace.

"Do you know who or where—"

"If I did, I wouldn't need The Womb."

"Right," Clark answered sheepishly. "I just can't believe it. Capturing Oracle? I thought her place was like Fort Knox, only you know… invisible? I thought she was completely off the grid." Clark bounced with excitement, the dire implications of the situation fraying his nerves.

"In order to grab Oracle it would take months of careful planning, preparation, and a budget greater than a small country's GDP. On top of that, any operatives monitoring her movements would endure several false starts as she changes her routine too often to be predictable. It would take someone years of patience to wait for the right moment," Bruce answered flatly as he rounded the last turn toward the doors of The Womb.

"So how did it happen?" Clark scratched his chin. "How could anyone manage to plan an operation like that without any of us catching wind of it?"

Bruce entered his code into the panel on the wall, and waited for the doors to open. A confused Hal Jordan stepped out from the other side.

"Uh… I'm supposed to be on monitor duty for another three hours but then I heard…" He scratched his head nervously, taking in the wild eyes of Superman and the dour glare of Batman. "Ya know what? It's cool. I don't want to know. It's all yours Bats."

Bruce stepped aside and allowed the frazzled Jordan to float on by without another word. When he rounded the corner and was finally out of sight, Bruce stepped inside. He turned on his heel sharply, and faced Clark, barring the path in. As the doors began to slide to a close, Bruce finally answered.

"You're misunderstanding. I never said she was abducted," Bruce sighed heavily. "I said she was compromised."

As the doors sealed between them, Bruce heard Clark's frustrated voice.

"I _hate it_ when he does that."

#

Sitting in the dim glow of the array of monitors in cape and cowl, Bruce was just another shadow in the dark room. Had it been two hours? Three? He lost track of time while his program did its work.

Normally a search of this magnitude would be child's play. He'd set the parameters for what he was looking for, then ship the request off to Oracle who would then hand him the results in just a few minutes. Global financial documents, foreign secure communications, and all other forms of international databases couldn't withstand the onslaught of Oracle's prying eyes.

But she was gone.

In the days after the disaster at the Wayne Foundation's Gala, Barbara Gordon had disappeared. She hadn't answered a single radio call, and her apartment was empty. Guilt bubbled in Bruce's gut just thinking about it.

He had failed yet another friend.

The hardware around the room beeped twice in unison, indicating that it had finished compiling the code of the program he just force fed into it. Another series of beeps and an intensifying whirring noise indicated the machines were now beginning to execute the function.

The whole system, while actually slower than his set up in the cave, had access to certain international protocols that his home network did not. This didn't mean the information he wanted was inaccessible to the machine in the Cave, just that he could spend less time breaking in if he used the front door. Right now, he was kicking those doors in all at once.

Being honest with himself, he knew using the Watchtower for anything was his last resort. After Oracle, the second best bet would have been doing the work himself in the Cave, away from prying eyes or interruptions. But with Oracle compromised he couldn't trust his system.

Fear welled in the center of his spine telling him he needed to find Barbara immediately, even at the expense of all other investigations. Including Selina's capture and Gene Kingston's murder. Those would have to wait. It burned his lungs just to consider.

He had failed them each in unique, unforgivable ways. Each failure compounded the next. His chest tightened, and his throat burned.

Several of the monitors beeped in indifferent cadences as they began running the second stage of their complicated subroutines. Batman ignored each of them, stoic and still. He tried to meditate, to find his center, while the machines whirred and beeped. He failed, repeatedly.

He was in a haze of fear and worry that began to bleed to a manic obsession. He already hadn't slept more than two hours at a time in the last few days. He would keep hearing Selina's scream as he looked into Diana's eyes that night. He would see Gene Kingston face down in a growing pool of red liquid whenever he closed his eyes. And now he saw Barbara's empty and abandoned apartment.

He replayed that night in his head a thousand times over, mentally reconstructing every minute detail. He found nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing other than Diana, and the general emotional upheaval associated with all memories bearing her name.

That night she had succeeded in completely shaking his unflappable mask. He was flooded with confusing and uncomfortable emotions each time he recalled specific events. Moments before meeting her backstage, he'd been dancing with Selina and there was nowhere else in the world he would have rather been.

But then _she_ walked in.

He took her hand in his, and triggered a downward spiral of emotional disaster.

The bank of whirring machines beeped loudly once, then snapped to a sudden silence. They had retrieved the requested files, and compressed them for transmission. Bruce took no such chance, and instead chose to download them directly. He produced a large capacity USB drive from an interior pocket on his belt and parsed the data sporadically while he waited for it to transfer.

Of the data being downloaded, few documents seemed particularly useful. But it was better to be safe and gather information from as many angles as possible in order to accurately piece things together. He took note of a few particularly interesting finds however, noticing odd purchases and communications between one T. Head in Dubai and a C level executive at Lex Corp. He scanned the pages quickly, but struggled to maintain focus when he noticed the picture in picture security feed on the screen. The cycling camera feed in the small corner of the display showed an impatient Wonder Woman, pacing and tapping her feet.

The tightness in his chest was now accompanied by a sinking heart. He felt his body betray him and give way to every emotion he'd been battling for the last several days.

Struggling to maintain his composure, he unplugged the portable thumb drive from the terminal and moved toward the doors to confront his fate. When he finally drew the courage to open the portal, his breath caught in his throat.

Diana was standing in the middle of the frame, her eyes soft with concern but her lips tight with worry. She was wearing a red executive pantsuit with fine silver pinstripes. Still wearing her heels from the office, the height of the severe bun in her hair was raised equal to that of Bruce's 6'2 frame. It was obvious to Bruce she had come straight from the embassy. What Bruce couldn't figure out, however, was why.

Bruce brushed by her, talking over his shoulder as he gained his stride. "What are you doing here?"

Absolutely livid at being dismissed, Diana kept pace with him easily and began furiously gesturing with her hands. Her heels clacked loudly against the tile while her wild movements knocked tendrils of black silk loose from her bun. "What am _I_ doing here? What are _you_ doing here? No one's heard from you in days. DAYS! And now that you've shown your face, you've scared Kal-El so bad he could barely spit it out over the phone. I've never seen him so worked up. What did you do?!"

"I haven't done anything," Bruce winced. "I haven't done enough." He wasn't making sense. He didn't care.

His pace quickened, hoping to end the conversation.

"Look I know the other night was a bit of a disaster, but none of that was my fault. Don't take it out on me. I was there for it. I was the only witness to the murder and kidnapping. You have to let me help you, let me come with you."

He continued on in silence. Diana pressed further.

It was clear she was uncomfortable with the topic, but she was bound and determined to discuss it. "I had J'onn help me search my memories for any clues from that night after the crime scene turned up sanitized."

Had he been looking at her, he'd have seen her blush furiously. Had she been in his field of vision, even slightly, it would have been obvious to see the shame written on her face. But Batman was busy trying to leave her behind, and the world's greatest detective saw nothing but the hallway ahead.

As a byproduct of J'onn's mental probing she came to relive the night in question several times over. During the fourth rundown of the evening she began to realize just how distracted she had been by Bruce Wayne that night. By the eighth time through, she had developed an undeniable attraction toward her erstwhile gracious host and selfless protector. By the tenth pass through, she was seeing him in her dreams at night. His ice blue eyes locked with hers as he lay over her. She couldn't help but imagine his broad chest pressed against her tightly, his arms holding her with a strength she hadn't known she wanted.

Batman was the last man she actually wanted to have this conversation with. Her awkward but all too real entanglement with him made her feel guilty for developing such a silly infatuation toward another man, but she pushed the emotions aside. It was obviously important to him, so it became important to her. Even if recalling that night made her feel like a hormonal teenager reliving a school dance. She tried again, her cheeks still flushed. This time, shifting the focus from the night as a whole, to the victims involved. "We developed a few theories as to where they could have taken Catwoman. Of course I didn't know it was her at the time but, we believe there are a number of—"

Bruce nearly tripped. Diana stumbled into his cape, momentarily entangled. She was immediately freed from the material when he spun in place. "Selina," he choked. "Where is she?"

Diana's eyes went wide. "We don't know yet, but—"

"Then I don't have time," he spat. He needed answers now, not theories. In times of crisis, nothing could be accomplished by chasing theories. If he was to prioritize Selina's rescue above locating Oracle, as he was so sorely tempted to do, he would need the facts now. Not just conjecture or fledgling theories.

Bruce took off, this time nearly running. His cape billowed out behind him in the hall.

"Wait," Diana called out. "Hold on, I just… We think she's… Stop!" Diana's voice began to fail her. Her eyes began to swim and she grabbed Bruce by the hand, dragging him to a stop with her immovable superhuman strength. "Say that again?"

"I don't have time, Diana," Bruce answered hotly. "I've got an emerg—"

"Not that," Diana's voice was frigid. "Her name."

"What?"

"Her name. Say her name again. Please." Her tightening grip let him know it wasn't a request.

Bruce realized his mistake too late. He began to understand exactly what she just said, and what it really meant.

Diana said she had J'onn help her recreate the evening, looking for details she might have missed. In reliving that night over and over, she would have experienced his crushing weight on top of her as he drove her from the stage. She would have relived his face so close to hers in the heat of the explosion, calling out Selina's name after hearing her scream.

A cold dread, identical to his realization that Barbara had been compromised, gripped his spine.

The standoff became tense. Diana's eyes bored into his, seemingly ignoring the presence of his mask. They began dancing around his face, taking in his features, measuring his appearance. Suddenly Diana's eyes shot wide open, her hands flinched away from him.

She began to spew expletives in every language she knew.

"Wayne?!" She dropped her voice to a whisper. "You're…," She touched his chin softly then placed her hands on his shoulders, measuring his chest. "It _is_ you." Her hands fell away from him. She needed them to steady herself against the near wall.

She seemed to have lost the ability to speak. "I'm... You're... This whole time?" Her eyes somehow managed to open yet wider, "Kal, he knew? That's why he was... Oh my god."

Every muscle in Bruce's body began to scream with adrenaline, but his brain wouldn't listen. "I don't know what you're-"

He stopped when he noticed the fury in Diana's eyes and suddenly prioritized self-preservation.

Before she could address his attempt to deflect with a hopelessly thin lie, the lighting in the Watchtower flashed a deep red and an emergency klaxon began to sound.

"Team," Clark's voice echoed in their heads, amplified through Martian Manhunter's telepathic efforts. "The Titans' Tower has been attacked. Its collapse is imminent. All available members are to report to the scene immediately to limit collateral damage. All heroes not involved in crowd control will need to secure the tower and anything inside from further damage. I'll see you on the ground. Superman, out."

Moments later, the Watchtower's automated computer began calling out an indicated rise in threat level. The entire facility began to buzz with activity. Diana stood in his way, barring his path. Lips trembling, but with threatening poise and posture.

In the fluctuating light of the halls, he saw the rage in Diana's eyes rapidly give way to hurt before they danced back to anger. He witnessed a single tear spring free from its well. It streaked freely to her chin allowing Bruce to see the cost of his betrayal. In that moment of chaos and uncertainty, his guilt tripled in weight.

"Come with me," he placed a hand on her arm. "I'll tell you everything."

########

Special thanks to everyone who left a review or sent me a message to continue this project. Special thanks to PrinceWayne/MissAmelie for the kind words of encouragement.


	10. Pause

TL;DR - The hard drive I keep my stuff on got stolen at an airport along with my motivation.

I'd like to start by saying that I'm sorry. Maybe if I updated chapters more frequently, this wouldn't have happened. But I had it all mapped out in my head, see. I'd surprise everyone by uploading 6 chapters at once, and then sit back and take my time with the finale. The first 4 chapters of this upload were pretty much ready to go. The 5th was a bit of a Frankenstein with so many parts sewn together it didn't really belong or flow. I was fighting with it like you wouldn't believe. The 6th would have been a payoff that everyone, and I mean everyone, would hate. That was kind of my plan, at least.

I travel sometimes for work. It keeps me pretty busy. Because of my crazy travel, I keep a separate hard drive for my creative works, so it's easy for me to maintain a line between work and play. Well while on a layover in Atlanta someone went through my bag when I momentarily stepped away. They snagged my phone charger, spare battery, and hard drive.

I'm pretty crushed. To be honest, I haven't even logged in to this site since it happened. It was just too depressing for me to think about. I'm just heartbroken over the whole thing. 6 months of work disappeared from my life in a matter of minutes, and now I'm faced with the daunting task of recreating whatever I can manage to remember. Officially, this story is on hiatus. To be completely honest, right now I don't want to finish it. Whatever I could manage to scrape together from my notes and piss poor memory would just drive me crazy.

But I had to write something. You have all been so kind to me that I thought it was only fair to let you know I was hitting the pause button. Really, this story was something akin to a doodle in the margin of my notes while I was bored at work. It grew rapidly and reached an audience that in my wildest dreams I wouldn't have imagined possible.

Maybe one day I'll come back to it. Maybe I'll start another story, and refer to the events I established here. But for right now, I'm just too bummed out to write much these days.

From the bottom of my nerdy heart, thank you all.


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